#sometimes you spent all day pretending and then you see this complete stranger and it’s like

[desperatecheesecubes]

I’d say ‘that poor bartender’ but that’s just what customer service is like.

[theonottsbxtch]

LOVE - LOCKED | FC43

an: this is based off of this request and i hope you like it bc i had sm fun writing a romantic slightly angsty thing i cant wait to hear what y'all thin, i also think it may be slightly rushed tho so lol ALSO LOL WE'RE GONNA PRETEND CARLOS IS YOUNGER IN THIS BC I NEEDED HER TO BE HIS OLDER SISTER

summary: carlos' sister has lived her life completely separated from him and their family name, instead she went and made a name for herself in the tennis world - she likes her life like that. that is until she meets franco colapinto

wc: 8.7k

The roar of engines, even from a distance, unsettled her.

They reminded her of the long days her father and brother spent in garages, the low rumble of motors and sharp tang of fuel in the air. Those were the hours she’d spend alone, working on her serve in the empty court across town, each hit ricocheting off the walls with a hollow, lonely echo. Her own choice, of course. She’d had no interest in the world of carbon fibre and grease, no desire to be the girl who simply tagged along, her name always in her brother’s shadow.

Now, years later, she’d become someone entirely on her own terms. A name people knew on its own — Vázquez de Castro — a name that meant something outside of her family, outside of her brother’s fame.

She slipped her phone into her bag and looked around the chaotic pit lane. Journalists, engineers, teams in matching shirts, faces alight with anticipation for the weekend's race. She knew she’d stand out here; her face might be familiar, but she was a stranger in this world.

The hum of voices around her faded as she felt his gaze. She’d been hoping to move through unnoticed, just a face in a sea of faces, but there he was: tall, familiar, unmistakably Carlos. His brow furrowed in surprise as he caught sight of her, his quick steps carrying him closer before she had a chance to dodge. She braced herself, turning to him with a calm that she didn’t quite feel.

“No aquí,” she murmured, her voice low, hoping that would be enough to keep curious ears at bay.

He paused, just a moment, his expression softening in understanding, and he tilted his head, his face somewhere between a grin and a frown. “You came.”

It wasn’t an accusation exactly — more surprise than anything. But she couldn’t miss the faint hope in his eyes, as if he thought she might be here to see him, to share a piece of his world after all this time. She let his words linger for a beat before she replied, her tone steady.

“I was invited,” she said, giving a slight shrug, “by Fernando.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the green and silver canopy, keeping her tone casual, but she saw his shoulders fall ever so slightly.

He nodded, glancing away for a moment, his jaw set. “Right. Fernando.”

There was something she wanted to say, something to soften the look in his eyes, but the pit lane was crowded, the eyes and cameras trained on every inch of the paddock sharper than she’d ever expected. They’d notice anything. And the last thing she wanted was for the papers to start spinning stories, putting her under a headline right next to him.

She touched his arm briefly. “Te hablo en el hotel. I’ll speak to you at the hotel.”

As she made her way toward the exit, ready to slip back into the background and disappear, she heard a voice calling out just over the rumble of engines and chatter.

“¡La princesa española!”

The words were unmistakable, lilting and clear, even with the crowd and machinery all around. The Spanish Princess. The nickname made her falter. It was something she sometimes heard on the tennis courts in Madrid or whispered by fans in distant cities when she played in international tournaments. But here? She scanned the area, puzzled at who would recognise her in this world of racing.

When she turned, her eyes met those of someone unfamiliar yet striking. He was tall, with an easy, disarming smile, his race suit gleaming with the bright, bold colours of his team’s livery. He looked young, not much older than she was, but he carried himself with that unmistakable energy she’d seen in rising stars before. The rookie, she realised, though she hadn’t kept up enough to know his name.

He held her gaze a moment too long, that same smile lingering as he approached, his eyes sparking with something between amusement and curiosity. She felt herself tense, almost involuntarily, her instinct telling her to slip away, to avoid whatever came next.

“Es realmente la princesa española,” he said, his tone playful yet certain.

Then it hit her.

Franco.

That was his name.

Franco’s grin widened as he closed the distance between them, his eyes bright with an almost boyish enthusiasm. “Soy un gran admirador de tu trabajo,” he said, his Argentine accent softening his words. “I’ve watched almost all your matches — I love the way you play.”

She blinked, taken aback. This wasn’t the usual kind of recognition she got, especially not here. She could count on one hand how many times she’d been recognised in public. She looked at him, trying to reconcile this confident young driver with the earnest fan in front of her.

“¿Me conoces?” The question slipped out before she could think, her voice tinged with disbelief.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile never faltering. “¿Quién no te conoce?” he replied, with a touch of humour. “La princesa española, queen of the clay court, unstoppable backhand — yeah, I know you.”

There was something genuine in his tone, something that set him apart from the usual strangers who said they knew her. 

And before she could stop herself, she found herself almost smiling. She cleared her throat, searching for a response, but her mind was blank. What could she say? That she knew nothing of him, or any of these people — that she had only set foot here today by chance?

She settled for a simple, “Gracias.”

Franco’s curiosity didn’t waver. He leaned in slightly, folding his arms with an amused glint in his eyes. “So, what brings la princesa española to the F1 paddock?”

She shrugged lightly, careful not to reveal too much. “I’m here as one of Fernando Alonso’s guests. Aston Martin.” She left it at that, hoping he wouldn’t dig further. Noticing that she looked a bit like another driver on the paddock. Thankfully, he didn’t.

His grin only grew wider, and she had the feeling that her mystery intrigued him. “Well then, if you’re one of Fernando’s guests, that means you’re not tied to my team,” he said with a glint of mischief. “Come with me — I’ll give you a tour of my garage. It’ll be like… a private tour.”

She hesitated, her gaze shifting back toward the exit, where she’d planned to slip out and leave all of this behind. If she went with him, there was a chance people would recognise her, start to connect her with her brother’s world. She’d spent her whole career carefully avoiding this — the headlines, the whispers, the inevitable questions about why she’d chosen such a different path. But the look on his face, that open, boyish enthusiasm, was hard to resist.

She let out a sigh, then looked up at him with a sudden, defiant glimmer in her eye. “Screw it. ¿Por qué no?”

His whole face lit up. She could practically see the excitement radiating off him as he extended his hand, his confidence a little too easy, a little too certain. She eyed his hand for a moment before raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

“Modales,” she chided, her tone playful. “I’ve known you for five minutes. We’re not dating.”

“Yet,” he replied without missing a beat, a spark in his eyes.

Despite herself, she smiled, a real one, something she hadn’t felt since stepping into the paddock that day.

He led her through the bustling paddock with an easy confidence, weaving between crew members, equipment, and cameras as if none of it could touch him. She was impressed, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so. The chaos of the pit lane, the narrow spaces and the clang of metal, all seemed to bend around him.

When they reached his team’s garage, he stopped by a young assistant stationed just outside, who looked at them with curious eyes.

“Do me a favour,” he said, barely containing his grin, “and grab a VIP lanyard for Williams’ guests, will you?”

The assistant glanced at her, his eyes widening slightly in recognition before he nodded and ducked away, returning a moment later with a crisp, team-branded lanyard. Franco took it with a pleased smile, then held out his hand for hers. She unclipped the Aston Martin lanyard from her neck and handed it over, watching with a mix of surprise and amusement as he replaced it with the one from his own team.

“There,” he said, adjusting the lanyard’s position with exaggerated care. “Now you’re officially part of the team.”

She couldn’t hold back her smirk. “You know, I don’t think lanyards change allegiances so easily.”

“Maybe not. But I do think it’s an improvement.” He winked, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Besides, the only lanyard you should be wearing here is mine.”

She laughed, caught off guard by his unfiltered charm, as he held out his arm with an exaggerated flourish. “And now, mi princesa, a grand tour.”

He led her into the garage, his tone switching between informative and teasing as he explained the various stations. “Over here, we have the engineering bay — where the magic of data happens.” He gestured toward a row of monitors displaying endless streams of numbers. “And these guys in the corner? They’re the wizards of aerodynamics. Make a mess, they won’t let you forget it.”

As they moved through each section, he offered her a glimpse into the world of F1, his energy and excitement almost contagious. She watched him with quiet intrigue; he seemed to belong here completely, as if he thrived in the chaos and intensity of it all.

“Now, over here,” he continued, leaning a bit closer to her as they approached a sleek wall of tires and tools, “this is where I go for my pre-race pep talks. I think it helps the tires, too.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You talk to the tires?”

“Only on occasion,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “And they listen. Or at least, I hope they do.” He grinned again, that glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Besides, they never talk back.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, but there was a smile in it, one she couldn’t quite suppress. He was disarming, funny in a way that felt refreshingly different from the sharp, serious world she’d known. He noticed the hint of a smile and held her gaze, leaning in just slightly.

Before she could say anything else, Franco led her deeper into the garage, weaving through the maze of tools, car parts, and engineers, who looked up now and then with curious glances. She followed, intrigued despite herself, and finally, unable to keep silent, asked, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, shooting her a look over his shoulder that was both charming and infuriatingly vague.

He stopped in front of a nondescript door tucked away from the bustle of the main garage. She glanced around, realising they were in the private part of the team’s area. He opened the door to his driver room, gesturing for her to step inside. The room was small but comfortable, filled with team memorabilia, spare racing gloves, and a neat rack of team-branded clothes. Before she could take it all in, he went over to a stack of neatly folded shirts and pulled one from the pile.

He turned back to her, holding up the shirt with a proud smile. “Here,” he said, offering it to her. “Wear this tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing between him and the shirt with mock scepticism. “Bold of you to assume I’d wear your merch.”

His grin only widened. “I think you’d look great in it,” he said, undeterred. “Besides, it’d be an honour to have la princesa española in my colours.”

She took the shirt, running her fingers over the soft fabric, and met his gaze with a slight smirk. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me,” he replied, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He looked like he wanted to say more, but just then, his phone buzzed on the nearby table, and he glanced at it with a slight frown before pocketing it again.

“So,” he continued, his tone shifting to something a little more casual, “what are you doing for dinner?”

The question surprised her. She hadn’t planned on lingering much longer after her brother’s race prep finished. She hadn’t planned on any of this, really. But he was watching her expectantly, and for a moment, she let herself consider it.

“Dinner?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion. “You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“Not at all,” he admitted with a grin. “What do you say? Let me take you out. I promise I’m as good at picking places to eat as I am at tours.”

She couldn’t resist a small laugh. “Alright,” she said, glancing up at him with an easy smile. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but just then, a voice called out from down the hallway. “Franco man, we’ve been looking all around for you!” A team manager appeared in the doorway, looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

Franco sighed, flashing her an apologetic look as he straightened. “Duty calls,” he muttered with a smirk. He lingered a moment, as if reluctant to leave, then glanced back at her with a warm smile.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, feeling a thrill she hadn’t expected. “See you tonight.”

He nodded, his grin returning full force, then turned to follow the manager out, giving her a final, backward glance that lingered just a second too long.

Back in her hotel room, she brushed a final touch of mascara over her lashes and glanced at her phone, where a text from Franco glowed on the screen.

Franco: “Ready whenever you are. No rush. See you soon :)”

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Tonight felt surprisingly… normal. Like she was just someone getting ready for a date, no stakes attached. She straightened her dress, checked her reflection, and took a steadying breath.

A soft knock at her door snapped her from her thoughts, and she felt a small flutter of excitement, assuming it was him. But when she opened the door, her breath caught.

Her brother stood there, his expression a mixture of confusion and something she couldn’t quite read. She masked her surprise quickly, stepping aside to let him in, though her voice was firm. “I can talk for a bit, but I have plans tonight.”

“With Franco?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, caught off guard. “How did you know?”

He gave a soft, humourless laugh, crossing his arms. “I saw you two in the paddock,” he said. “And I overheard him talking about it in the garage. Apparently, he couldn’t stop telling anyone who’d listen about his ‘date with la princesa de España.’” He looked at her, and his voice softened. “So why is it you have no problem being seen with him, but not with your own brother?”

His question hung heavily in the air, the familiar tension between them settling back into place. She took a breath, struggling for the right words. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be seen with him — it was the weight of everything that came with it. The press, the fans, the inevitable comparisons. She could already see the headlines if they were spotted together, her name placed directly beside his, stripping away the hard-won independence she’d fought for.

She sighed, glancing at him. “It’s not… about you,” she said carefully. “It’s just… everything that comes with it. You know how it is.”

He shook his head, looking slightly hurt. “I don’t know, actually. I’ve always thought we were supposed to be in this together. But I feel like… I don’t know, like you’re just trying to run from anything that connects us.”

She sighed, leaning against the doorframe, her voice dropping to something softer, more serious. “It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I just don’t want to be known as Carlos’ sister everywhere I go. I’ve worked hard to build my own name, my own career, and sometimes… being around you, it overshadows that.”

Her brother studied her, his face a mix of understanding and something else, a flash of protective instinct. “You know, if you date Franco, you’ll just end up being known as his girlfriend,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “It’s just a date, Carlos. Nothing more.”

He shrugged, his mouth quirking in a small smile. “Yeah, well, with him, nothing ever stays ‘just’ anything. Just saying.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth behind it. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine.”

They shared a quiet moment of understanding before she gently nudged him toward the door. “Go get some rest. And good luck tomorrow. I’ll be cheering from the sidelines.”

The evening was soft and cool, the sky painted in shades of violet and indigo as the city stretched out below them. The balcony they’d stepped onto was tucked away from the bustling noise of the hotel, private and intimate, offering only the sounds of the night breeze and the occasional far-off hum of the city.

Franco had arranged it all—quiet, serene, away from prying eyes. The dinner was simple but elegant: a few delicate dishes of fresh seafood, wine that wasn’t too heavy, just enough to let the conversation flow freely. It was just the two of them, and she realised as she stood there, her hand brushing the railing, how rare that felt.

She’d worn a dress that was understated, yet elegant—a deep midnight blue that mirrored the evening sky, the fabric light enough to catch the breeze. She hadn’t given it much thought; it wasn’t for anyone but herself. But when Franco first saw her, the look in his eyes told her that, maybe, it had been the right choice after all.

His gaze lifted from the table where he had been adjusting the wine glasses, and the moment he saw her, the words spilled out before he could even stop them.

“Dios mío, qué hermosa estás.” His voice was low, his gaze sweeping over her with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

She felt her cheeks flush, the compliment unexpected but not unwelcome. She had been nervous about the evening, unsure of what this was or what it would become. But his words, simple and sincere, relaxed something inside her.

“Gracias,” she replied with a small smile, feeling the warmth in her chest spread, her eyes meeting his.

He stood up, taking a small step toward her as if to take in the full picture, his gaze never leaving her face. “I swear,” he continued, his voice filled with genuine awe, “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even more stunning than earlier. It's like... you're glowing.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I think you’re just being kind.”

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head as he closed the distance between them. “I’m not the kind of guy to throw compliments around just to be polite. Te ves increíble, you look incredible.”

After a decent amount of eating, a stretched out silence, Franco spoke up. “So,” he began, his voice casual but warm, “what’s it like to be the la princesa española outside of tennis?”

She raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her wine. “I don’t really think of myself as that,” she said lightly. “It’s just a nickname.”

“I don’t know,” he teased. “I think it suits you. You have a... regal air about you.” His eyes glinted with mischief as he added, “I’m sure you’d never get away with being late for anything. Everyone would just wait for the princess to show up.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “You really are persistent with those compliments, aren’t you?”

“Solo con la verdad,” he said with a grin, leaning back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself.

The evening unfolded easily after that. They spoke about everything and nothing: about their childhoods, what had brought them to this point in their careers, how it felt to always be in the spotlight. She told him stories from her tennis matches, and he shared wild tales of racing, of the constant pressure and adrenaline.

But it was the quieter moments, the small pauses between their words, that felt the most significant. When he leaned in to pass her the bottle of wine, their hands brushed, and the air seemed to thicken for a moment. His gaze lingered a bit longer than it needed to, and she noticed the subtle way his smile softened when their eyes met. She wasn’t used to this — this ease, this comfort that felt so unforced — but it was exactly what she hadn’t realised she’d been searching for.

“You know,” Franco said, his tone thoughtful, “I can’t remember the last time I had a night like this. Just—” He waved his hand toward the view, the quiet that surrounded them. “It’s nice. To not be rushing off to something. No cameras, no expectations.”

She looked out over the balcony at the skyline, the city lights twinkling in the distance. “I know what you mean. There’s always so much noise, so many people trying to pull you in different directions. It’s rare to just… be.” She turned to look at him, her voice lowering slightly. “It’s a little surreal, actually.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, there was a silence between them that felt like a shared understanding. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looked at her, his expression genuine. “I’m glad you’re here with me tonight. I’m glad I got to spend this time with you.”

Her heart did a little flip at the sincerity in his voice. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from the evening, but this — this felt right.

“So,” he continued, his voice lightening again, “any chance I can convince you to wear my team’s shirt tomorrow?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said with a wink, “but only because I know you’d look amazing in it.”

She rolled her eyes but could feel the warmth in her chest spread. “I’ll think about it,” she teased, mirroring his playful tone.

The conversation drifted back to lighter topics, the evening unfolding with ease as the world seemed to blur around them. As the night deepened, they shared stories, laughter, and quiet glances that spoke volumes. It wasn’t the fireworks, the grand gestures of a first date. But it was something else — something that felt like a beginning.

When the last of the wine was finished, and the candles flickered low, Franco stood, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. He didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes told her everything. His fingers brushed against hers, and she didn’t pull away.

As the night grew later, the air around them cooled, and they moved to the edge of the balcony, gazing out over the city. The quiet was comforting, the soft hum of distant traffic the only sound breaking the stillness between them.

She let out a small sigh, her mind wandering, and with it, the weight of everything that had brought her to this moment. She looked up at him, caught in the calm but uncertain about what this night might mean.

"Well, this has been lovely," she said, her voice light but tinged with something else. "But, just so you know… this is probably going to be our only date."

His eyebrows furrowed, his smile faltering for just a fraction of a second. “Why?” he asked, his tone suddenly laced with concern. “Have I done something wrong?”

She met his gaze, her chest tight for reasons she couldn’t quite place. There was no logical reason for her to feel that way — he had been nothing but kind, charming, and genuine all night. But there was still that lingering sense of hesitation, a wall she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to tear down.

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if to reassure him. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked at her for a long moment, studying her face. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer, something quieter, as if he were trying to understand her better.

“I’m not really a person who runs from things," she said, her voice lowering slightly, unsure how to put her thoughts into words. “But there are parts of my life I’m... careful about. I can’t help but keep them to myself.”

She hesitated, feeling a strange tug in her chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, she found herself wanting to share something personal, something she had hidden away. She took a breath and let it slip out before she could second-guess herself.

“I have a brother,” she began, looking out at the city below them, trying to steady her voice. “He’s a Formula 1 driver.”

Franco froze, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Wait... what?”

She glanced at him, a slight laugh escaping her lips at the look of genuine surprise on his face. “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Carlos.”

He blinked, his surprise turning into a quiet sense of disbelief. “Carlos Sainz?” He repeated her brother’s name, almost as if he were trying to process it. “I had no idea…”

She looked at him, a slight sadness settling in her chest. “Most people don’t,” she said, her voice quiet now. “I never tell anyone. I’ve worked my entire life to be known for me—for what I do, not because of who I’m related to. I don’t want to live in someone’s shadow.”

Franco didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence stretch out between them. He was thinking, she could tell. It was as though he were weighing her words, weighing the tension in her tone. Then, slowly, he spoke, his voice steady but sincere.

“With me, you wouldn't,” he said, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that took her by surprise. “You wouldn’t be in anyone’s shadow. Not if you didn’t want to be.”

She was quiet for a long moment, his words sinking in. Part of her wanted to dismiss it, wanted to keep pushing away the idea of anyone in her life stepping into that shadow. But there was something in his eyes—something honest and unwavering—that made her hesitate. He wasn’t offering her fame or status. He was offering her something far simpler. The space to be herself.

Then, he said something that made her heart skip a beat.

“I’ll be your WAG,” he said, his voice surprisingly matter-of-fact, his smile just a little crooked.

She laughed, a quick, startled sound. “What?” she teased, shaking her head. “Are you serious? ‘WAG’—really?”

He leaned in slightly, the smile still on his face but his eyes unflinching. “En serio. I’m serious.” he added with a little more emphasis, the words flowing naturally from him.

Her laughter died down, replaced by a brief, curious silence. She was still processing his words, still trying to understand how it had escalated from a simple dinner to this.

“You’re joking,” she said softly, unsure whether to laugh or take him seriously.

“No,” he7 replied, his voice now calm, almost earnest. “I’m not. Look, I get it. The whole ‘WAG’ thing... it sounds ridiculous, I know. But the way I see it, we’d be a team. You’d have my back, and I’d have yours. No shadows, no expectations, just us. What we make of it.”

She took a step back, crossing her arms as she considered what he was saying. The idea of it felt foreign, a little intimidating, but something about it also felt right in a way she hadn’t expected. No grand gestures, no drama. Just… us, as he’d said.

“Don’t you think I’d look good in a sponsored Channel crop top?” he joked, and the thought of it made her laugh.

Before she could stop it, however, her mind flashed to her brother, to the years of keeping her life private, to the way she had fought so hard to remain in the background of her family’s legacy. And yet here was Franco, offering something different. He wasn’t asking her to be a part of his world—he was offering her a partnership, an equal footing.

For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to truly think about what that might mean. To be seen, not as someone’s sister or someone’s girlfriend, but just as herself.

“Maybe... maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she said quietly, her voice uncertain but filled with a growing sense of possibility.

Franco looked at her, a quiet confidence in his eyes. “Entonces, we’ll figure it out together. No shadows. Just us.”

“Just us.”

“You better wear my shirt tomorrow,” he said, his voice teasing but hopeful.

She smirked, folding her arms across her chest as she looked at him. “I’ll think about it.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “You better. I’ll be watching.”

She laughed, shaking her head at his persistence. “We’ll see.”

The next morning arrived with the usual rush, the anticipation of race day filling the air. She woke up to a sunlit room and a few messages on her phone, the familiar bustle of the paddock already beginning to take shape outside her window. As she moved around the room, preparing for the day ahead, her mind wandered back to the previous evening.

She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair back into a sleek ponytail, glancing over her outfit choices. She’d packed a nice pair of fitted trousers and a smart blouse for the day. But then, as she opened her suitcase to grab something, she saw it—the shirt.

It was sitting on top of her suitcase, folded neatly, the soft fabric of his team’s shirt catching the light. The sight of it made her pause. She could feel a flutter of uncertainty in her chest as she stared at the shirt. It wasn’t like her to let herself be swayed by someone else’s request. But something about Franco, about the way he’d looked at her, made her reconsider.

She bit her lip, considering her options. The shirt was casual, simple, but it also felt like a statement. She could wear it for him, just this once, maybe just to see how it felt. There was no harm in that, right?

She grabbed the shirt, examining it for a moment. It was an understated design—his team’s logo in the corner, a soft fabric, nothing too flashy. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would normally wear, but for some reason, she felt drawn to it. And then it hit her—maybe it wasn’t about the shirt at all. It was about the confidence to wear it, to stand beside him and let the world see her as she was, without hesitation.

She had a moment of inspiration.

Instead of simply slipping it on with jeans like she’d imagined, she decided to give it a bit of a twist. She styled it with an oversized blazer, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off the shirt underneath, and a pair of high-waisted pants. The look was effortlessly cool, edgy, but still very much her. She paired it with a pair of sleek, minimalist sneakers, and, just before she finished, added a bold red lip to complete the ensemble.

When she looked in the mirror, she felt a sense of pride. It was a simple shirt, yes, but it was her way of wearing it. And somehow, it made her feel like she was making her own mark, not hiding behind anyone else’s expectations.

She grabbed her phone, checking the time, then sent Franco a quick message.

“I thought about it. I’ll wear the shirt. But only because it goes with my outfit.”

She added a playful winking emoji before hitting send, knowing that he’d appreciate the humour in it.

The morning was just beginning to pick up its pace as she finished getting ready. The weight of the day’s events, the race, the energy of the paddock, all began to settle in. But for the first time in a while, she felt a small sense of excitement, an eagerness she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t about the race itself, but about the people she was meeting, the connections she was making, and—perhaps most unexpectedly—what might lie ahead with Franco.

She was just about to head out of her hotel room when there was a knock on the door. She knew that knock—steady and familiar. Taking a deep breath, she opened it to find her brother standing there, his usual calm exterior softened by a quiet intensity in his gaze.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes searching hers.

She nodded, stepping back to let him in. She could tell he was a bit surprised when he saw the shirt she was wearing—the shirt of a rival team. He glanced at it, one brow raised slightly, but he didn’t comment, just closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall.

He took a deep breath, as if he’d been building up to this. “Are you… thinking of seeing him again?”

There was something tentative in the way he asked, a kind of brotherly concern that she hadn’t seen in a long time. She shrugged, trying to keep her tone casual. “Maybe. I’m considering it.”

He nodded slowly, looking away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then, almost hesitantly, he said, “Why are you okay with being seen with him, and not with me?”

The question landed heavily between them, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. She looked at him, seeing the vulnerability in his expression, the unspoken hurt in his eyes. It was rare for him to open up like this, to say exactly what was on his mind. She let out a long breath, searching for the right words.

“It’s different,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Different how?” he pressed, his tone gentle but persistent.

She met his gaze, feeling a lump rise in her throat. She hadn’t realised just how much this division had affected them both, how much it lingered in moments like these. “I never felt like I was a part of your world,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “It wasn’t just about you. It was Dad, too. He… he made it clear that I wasn’t cut out to be a part of it. I wasn’t… enough. Not like you.”

He looked at her, the quiet hurt in his eyes turning into something deeper, something sadder. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

She gave him a small, sad smile. “How could you? You were busy making him proud. And you were great at it. I always saw how he looked at you, how proud he was of everything you were doing. He saw you as this… continuation of him, of his legacy. But me… I was never part of that.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he processed her words. “I never wanted it to be that way. I thought you just didn’t care about what we were doing. I thought you were happy doing your own thing.”

“I am,” she said, and she meant it. “Tennis is my world; it’s where I feel strong, where I feel like I belong. But… it didn’t come without sacrifices. I grew up watching you and Dad bond over racing, and it was like there was this door between us that was shut for good. I could watch, but I couldn’t be a part of it.”

There was a long pause, her brother absorbing her words, the weight of years of misunderstanding settling between them.

“I wish I’d known,” he said finally, his voice soft, tinged with regret. “I thought… I thought you didn’t want to be a part of it. I thought it didn’t matter to you if Dad and I had that bond. But I get it now. I see what it must’ve felt like, standing on the outside.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken years filling the space between them. And then he added, “You know, you don’t have to keep yourself hidden to be in my life, right? I get it now. But it doesn’t have to be like that.”

Her throat tightened, a wave of unexpected emotion rising within her. She’d spent so long feeling like an outsider in her own family, so sure that her brother had never noticed. But now, here he was, standing in front of her, wanting to bridge that gap.

“It’s hard to just undo it all,” she admitted. “Sometimes, it feels easier to just… stay on my own path. To keep these things separate.”

He nodded, understanding. “But if you’re thinking of seeing Franco… letting yourself be part of his world… doesn’t it mean you’re ready to be seen? To be yourself, even in places that are unfamiliar?”

She considered this, his words striking a chord deep within her. He wasn’t wrong. She’d spent so long hiding parts of herself, keeping herself separate to avoid comparison or judgement. But with Franco, she hadn’t felt the same need. For once, she had felt like she could be herself—no shadows, no expectations.

“I think… I just want to find something that’s mine,” she said finally. “A space where I’m not just ‘your sister,’ where I don’t have to carry someone else’s legacy.”

Her brother gave her a soft, understanding look. “You’ve already done that. You are more than just my sister. You’ve made a name for yourself that has nothing to do with anyone else. You’re not living in anyone’s shadow… but if you ever want to step into our world—my world—I’d like to be part of yours too. Just… let me be there for you, even if it’s only sometimes.”

She nodded, feeling a sense of warmth, a sense of connection that hadn’t been there before. Maybe there was room for both worlds, after all. For the first time, she felt like she didn’t have to choose.

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly, echoing her words from last night.

He smiled, a hint of relief in his eyes. “I hope you do.”

With that, he gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, a wordless acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they shared. And as he left, she felt a sense of closure, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to keep running from her family’s legacy to be seen as her own person. She could walk her own path, even if it sometimes crossed into theirs.

She arrived at the paddock a little while later, weaving her way through the bustle of race day, her heart beating a little faster than usual. Wearing Franco’s shirt under her blazer felt like a small, bold choice—one that had her both excited and slightly nervous. She walked through the crowd until she reached his team’s garage, where the energy was already crackling with anticipation.

As soon as she stepped in, Franco spotted her from across the garage. His face lit up the second he saw her, and he immediately started making his way toward her. When he was close enough, he lowered his voice and said in Spanish, a playful gleam in his eyes, “Wait here for just a second. Don’t move.”

Before she could respond, he turned and jogged back toward his driver’s room, leaving her standing in the middle of the garage, a little bewildered but smiling to herself. She watched as he disappeared into the room, curious about whatever he was planning. Within a moment, he was back, holding a bouquet of flowers—a mix of deep red roses and bright sunflowers, their colours vivid against the greys and metallics of the garage.

“For you,” he said, handing them over with a grin, his accent warm and lilting. His eyes softened as he added, “To celebrate your first race day as my guest.”

She took the bouquet, feeling a rush of warmth as she held the flowers. “You know, you didn’t have to do this,” she said, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “I’m just here as… well, just as me.”

“And I think that’s worth celebrating,” he replied smoothly, his gaze locked on hers with unmistakable admiration. “Besides, you didn’t say no to the shirt, so I think I’m allowed a little celebration, no?”

She laughed, her cheeks warming as she looked down at the bouquet. “Alright, fine. You win. Thank you—they’re beautiful.”

Franco glanced around the garage, then leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a playful murmur. “You know, you’re even more beautiful than I remember from last night. I thought maybe I was exaggerating, but… no. I wasn’t.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “Careful, or I’ll start to think you’re trying to distract me from the race.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, chuckling. Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, he looked around the garage again and spotted one of his engineers nearby. Franco gestured to the man, who quickly nodded, understanding exactly what Franco was after.

The engineer handed him a headset, and Franco turned back to her, holding it up. “Here—so you can listen in and watch from inside the garage. You’ll get the best seat here.”

She blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You’ll get to hear all the comms, see how it all works up close. Plus”—he leaned in, his voice low—“you’ll have an excuse to stay around here.”

She shook her head with a smirk, taking the headset from him. “Alright. But only because you’ve convinced me with flowers and shameless flattery.”

“Good,” he replied, his grin widening as he watched her settle the headset over her ears. “I’ll keep it coming if it means you stay.”

As the team began their pre-race preparations, Franco showed her the best spot to watch from, and he took a few moments to explain some of the technical details. She found herself captivated, not just by the race, but by the way he was so eager to share his world with her. His enthusiasm was infectious, and despite herself, she felt the thrill of race day in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Before he had to step away to start his own warm-up routine, he gave her one last look, his gaze holding a touch of that familiar mischievous glint. “Enjoy the show, princesa. And don’t go falling in love with the cars now—they’re not as charming as I am.”

She laughed, giving him a playful shove. “No promises.”

Franco winked, backing away with a grin as he joined the other drivers and team members preparing for the race. She stayed in the garage, feeling the weight of the headset and bouquet in her hands, both of them symbols of the way her world had shifted in just a few days.

As she watched him walk away, his words echoing in her ears, she realised just how different today felt. For the first time, she wasn’t just watching as an outsider; she was here, part of the energy, sharing a moment in his world, just as he’d promised. And maybe—just maybe—she was finally ready to be a part of something new.

The race was intense, the roar of engines filling the air as she watched Franco’s car weave through the track, making his way up from P16 to P12, gaining positions one by one with determined precision. Her heart raced with every turn, every overtake. She’d never felt the thrill of Formula One from this close before, and she found herself completely absorbed, balancing her attention between the live race and the screens in the garage that tracked every driver’s progress.

And then, in the final laps, her eyes moved to another part of the screen—a familiar car that was in the lead. A red car. Her brother was out front, defending his position with expert skill, pushing with everything he had toward the finish line. She held her breath, fingers tightening around the edges of the headset as she watched the seconds count down. When he crossed the finish line in first place, a feeling she hadn’t expected washed over her—pride, pure and radiant, filled her chest. She found herself clapping, cheering, a bright smile spreading across her face.

Franco, having just finished his own race and done the mandatory weigh-in and debrief with his engineers, finally found her in the garage. He looked exhausted but happy, his face still flushed from the adrenaline of the race. When he walked over, he paused, noticing the way her eyes were glued to the screen as her brother celebrated his victory, lifting his fists in the air in triumph.

“You’re glowing,” Franco murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her reaction.

She blinked, glancing back at him and realising how giddy she must look. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think it would feel like this. I’m just… so happy for him.” Her voice was breathless, filled with a genuine joy she couldn’t hide.

He chuckled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Then you should go to him. He’s probably waiting for you.”

She shook her head, hesitating, her gaze flickering back to the screen. “No, I couldn’t. I don’t… I don’t belong over there, with everyone. That’s his world.”

Franco tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. “Maybe that’s true most days. But today, you belong there just as much as anyone else. He’s your brother. Go celebrate with him. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She bit her lip, uncertainty still holding her back. “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“Start with congratulations,” Franco said, flashing her a gentle, reassuring grin. “Trust me, it’ll be enough.”

He gestured toward the edge of the garage, where the barriers separated the track from the paddock. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded, taking a shaky breath as he guided her forward. The crowd around them was roaring with excitement as her brother’s car was pulled into parc fermé, fans and teammates celebrating around him. She could feel her heart pounding, each step filling her with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

At the barrier, Franco gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Go on. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

With that, he released her hand, and she took a step forward, catching sight of her brother through the haze of people and cameras. He was laughing, practically glowing as he embraced his team, still basking in the thrill of his victory. And then, as if sensing her, he turned and saw her standing there, just beyond the barrier.

His expression softened, and a smile broke across his face, one that was filled with surprise and unmistakable happiness. Without a moment’s hesitation, he made his way over, reaching out to pull her into a tight, heartfelt hug. She hugged him back, feeling the last remnants of the old distance between them dissolve as she held her brother close, finally sharing in his moment.

When they pulled apart, he looked at her, pride shining in his eyes. “You came,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

She laughed softly, tears threatening to sting her eyes. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I’m so proud of you.”

He grinned, leaning in to press a quick, brotherly kiss to her forehead. “Thank you. It means a lot that you’re here. Really.”

As the team around them cheered and the cameras continued to flash, she felt the enormity of the moment—a sense of belonging, not just as a tennis player, or his sister, but as herself.

She grinned at her brother, reaching up to ruffle his hair in a rare show of sibling affection. “Te quiero mucho, hermanito,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and pride. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

His smile softened, and he looked at her with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Te quiero también,” he replied, wrapping her in one last quick hug. “Thank you for being here. Really.”

The moment was brief but profound, a quiet reassurance that, despite the different worlds they had each chosen, they were still connected. He glanced back toward his team, who were waving him over for post-race celebrations and interviews.

“I have to go,” he said, releasing her. “But I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” she replied, giving him a nod and a small wave as he returned to his crew. She watched him for a moment longer, feeling a sense of pride she hadn’t felt in years—one that was entirely unclouded by the complexities of the past. Then she turned and made her way back toward Franco’s garage, her heart still racing from the intense energy of the day.

When she found him, Franco was waiting near the garage entrance, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a proud smile lighting up his face as he saw her approach.

“You did it,” he said softly, admiration in his eyes. “You finally let yourself be a part of all this.”

As she reached Franco, he turned to face her, his expression softening with a mixture of pride and relief as he took her hands in his. Her heart pounded, the intensity of the day lingering between them like a magnetic pull. She gazed up at him, her breath catching as she saw the warmth in his eyes—the genuine care and admiration there, as if he saw every part of her that she had worked so hard to keep separate.

Without a word, she stepped closer, her hand moving up to rest gently against his cheek. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze searching hers, as if waiting for her to close the last small gap between them. Finally, she leaned up, closing her eyes as her lips met his in a slow, lingering kiss.

The world around them seemed to dissolve, the roar of the crowd and bustle of the paddock fading as the kiss deepened. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, his touch both steady and tender. She felt the warmth of him seep into her, grounding her in the moment, and she responded instinctively, fingers threading through his hair as he held her tighter. There was a gentleness in his touch, but an undeniable passion too, a desire that built slowly between them.

Time slipped away as they shared this unguarded moment, the boundaries she had set for herself crumbling with every heartbeat. She could feel the strength in his arms, the quiet reassurance he offered, and a warmth that sparked through her, as if he was silently promising that he would be there, no matter what.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing a little harder, their foreheads touching as they lingered close, unwilling to step away. Franco’s thumb traced a gentle line along her jaw as he looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with an affection so deep that it nearly overwhelmed her. “I needed that push,” she murmured against his lips.

His arms came around her, but he laughed as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Come on,” he said with a teasing glint, “the cameras have probably caught enough kissing for one day.”

She chuckled, letting him lead her back toward the quiet of his garage, away from the noise and eyes of the crowd. For the first time, she felt an undeniable sense of belonging—not just to the world she had worked so hard to create for herself, but to this moment, with him, with her family. She’d finally allowed herself to be part of it all, and it felt right in a way she hadn’t expected.

the end.

[heliads]

Hello! If you don’t mind, I would like to request a Rebekah Mikaelson x reader?

Something like, reader is human but is the key to one of Klaus’s plans, so he takes her to the Mikaelson mansion and keeps her there. She’s kind of a prisoner, but Rebekah has seen this film before, so she’s just expecting one of her brothers - or both of her brothers - to fall in love with yet another stupid human and make everything complicated again

However, reader starts to get affectionate with her. She starts looking for her when she needs something, when she has to make a decision, she looks at her for reassurance, she goes to Bekah’s room late at night to talk and very often just falls asleep there, it’s a whole thing, but Rebekah is always expecting the moment she’ll leave her for her brothers, not really opening her heart, she’s scared because she has been fooled so many times

So, one day she sees reader talking with Elijah and she’s even giving him those pleading eyes she usually reserves for her and they both shut up immediately when she gets close, and she knows the moment came, Y/N will be Elijah’s, Klaus will freak out and hell will break loose. She’s hurt but pretends no to be and just starts keeping reader away

But reader was only talking to Elijah because in one of these late night talks, Rebekah told her that no one has ever baked for her even though she has been doing it forever, so she was just trying to convince him to get everything she needed to bake for her, she’s completely in love with Rebekah

So, that’s it! I hope you like the request, thanks anyway!

'didn't like the ending' - rebekah mikaelson

masterlist

God, Rebekah Mikaelson has seen the same scene play out so many times, she’s starting to feel like she’s spent half her immortal life in deja vu. For a family of Original vampires that prides itself on being leagues beyond the rest of their bloodsucking proteges, the Mikaelson brothers can be a little, well, predictable. Especially at times like this.

If there’s one perfect example of the Mikaelson men repeating themselves, it would have to be the hostage problem. Rebekah can’t even begin to count the amount of times she’s witnessed the same damn thing over the centuries. At this point, it’s starting to border on ridiculous, yet the only one who seems attuned to this problem is Rebekah. And it’s not as if her brothers are really that keen to listen to her, anyway. Certainly not about something like this.

Every time, it starts and ends the same:  one of her brothers, maybe even Rebekah herself, will drag in some human or vampire or witch to serve as a hostage during one of their many disputes with the neighbouring supernatural beings. They’ll chain up this poor sap in a cell, or lock them in one of the many rooms of the Mikaelson mansion. At first, all will be perfectly ordinary. The hostage will beg and plead to be rescued, Rebekah’s family will laugh scornfully from atop their ivory towers, and everything will go as planned.

But then the negotiations don’t happen as quickly as they would like, and the Mikaelsons end up spending a lot more time with their hostage than initially envisioned. They have to tolerate the company of this foreign presence more and more, especially since the hostage often ends up being a key part in someone’s plans, and information is required from them. Then, Elijah or Klaus, or heavens, even Kol sometimes, will end up spending far more time with this hostage than ever before, and they’ll do the unthinkable and fall in love.

Rebekah is no stranger to the plight of the lovestruck Mikaelson. Although it seems impossible, one of her brothers will fall in love, and then face the unsightly issue of having to wrestle with their guilt over letting the hostage go, or the more likely option, they’ll keep the hostage forever as a little trophy or token of their affections until they fall out of love again and the hostage is set free.

This has happened many times over the centuries. No matter how much her brothers love to talk about how they’re so above mortal things like feelings, Rebekah has watched them fall victim to their hearts until an affection becomes an affliction. Normally, she wouldn’t have a problem with any of this, it is rather amusing to watch her brothers fall over themselves in an attempt to woo a human of all things, but more often than not she ends up being the reluctant ear to their monologues, so the whole affair has grown rather wearisome over the years.

And so, when Klaus drags yet another human hostage into the Mikaelson mansion as a cog in one of his many elaborate plans, Rebekah just sighs and mentally starts planning when she’ll take an extended vacation out of New Orleans yet again so she won’t have to deal with all of this. It’s a shame, too. She was just starting to put herself back out there again, and now all of her hard work is for nothing.

Rebekah watches from the balcony as Klaus dramatically announces to the hostage that they’ll have nowhere to go unless they help him. This time, he’s allowing the hostage free reign of the place, since he’s had a witch charm the hostage into being unable to leave the mansion unless Klaus directly allows it. That way, he won’t have to deal with pesky things like vervain getting in the way of his commands.

Rebekah sighs, rolling her eyes at the scene. The hostage seems like a perfectly nice young woman, albeit one that has absolutely no idea what’s coming for her. Inwardly, she wonders if she should start issuing ominous warnings about staying away from the Mikaelson brothers, although if this hostage is in any way involved with the vampiric communities of New Orleans, she supposes they would already know more than enough about that.

A sudden whoosh of air by her side; Rebekah looks up to see Elijah suddenly emerging from the shadows of the hall to stand next to her. “Something seems to be troubling you,” he notes. “Should I be afraid to ask?”

Rebekah just groans. “Klaus has gone and conjured himself up yet another hostage. This is not going to end well.”

Elijah arches a brow. “You don’t mean to tell me you think Klaus will harm her already? He should hold off at least a week or two, he needs her alive.”

Rebekah shakes her head. “Worse. I think he’s going to grow to care for her. Either you or him.”

Elijah chuckles. “Well, I hardly think that being under the protection of a Mikaelson is cause for concern. If anything, it should extend her lifetime a few decades or so.”

Rebekah scoffs. “I couldn’t care less about how long she lives. I just don’t want you two to bother me when you fall in love again.”

Elijah gazes down at the hostage. “You don’t even know if she’s our type. We might not like her in the slightest. Rebekah, have you even bothered to learn the poor girl’s name? That’s meager hospitality on your part.”

Rebekah almost laughs. “Dearest brother, I do not give a damn who this girl is or what she’s done wrong to get herself on Klaus’ radar. The more she stays out of my way, the better.”

With that, she spins on her heel and heads back towards her quarters. This plan is one of Klaus’ mad schemes, not hers, so Rebekah is determined to avoid the whole matter as much as she can. Maybe then she could finally manage a moment or two of peace and quiet around here.

Peace and quiet, as it turns out, are not the sorts of things to hang around the Mikaelson estate, certainly not when Klaus has a few tricks up his sleeve. Try as she might to stay out of the way, Rebekah finds herself brought back into the mix not by Klaus, or even Elijah on one of his many attempts to bring the family together, but by the hostage herself:  Y/N L/N.

Rebekah had been honest with Elijah when she said she couldn’t care less about the hostage. Really, she couldn’t. For some reason, however, Y/N seems to have decided that Rebekah is her best bet when attempting to navigate the complex relationships of the Mikaelson extended sphere. She’s not wrong, really, Rebekah can be level-headed when she decides it’s interesting enough for her, but she can’t fathom why Y/N would seek her out intentionally.

Yet this is precisely what happens. Y/N takes it upon herself to introduce herself to Rebekah out of the blue one day, then keeps tracking Rebekah down to ask her questions or seek advice on how to deal with Klaus. Honestly, it’s ridiculous. Rebekah does not need new friends, nor would she try to find them in a human.

That being said, she doesn’t entirely mind Y/N, not really. As far as humans go, Rebekah would be kind enough to say that she’s one of the better ones. She doesn’t annoy Rebekah like some of the Mystic Falls crew did, and she listens intently whenever Rebekah speaks, as if she truly cared about what Rebekah had to say. After many lifetimes over her brothers overruling her every thought, Rebekah can’t deny that it’s nice to have her opinion valued every now and then.

Just as expected, Y/N’s tenure in the Mikaelson mansion drags on for longer than planned, and what was meant to be a stay of just a couple of weeks turns into one month, then two. Y/N remains, and she remains by Rebekah’s side. They actually exchange jokes, and secrets, and before Rebekah knows it, she actually looks forward to when she crosses paths with Y/N. They get along brilliantly, and when Y/N isn’t with Rebekah–

Well, when she’s not with Rebekah, she’s with Elijah. Practically glued to the hip. At first, Rebekah would jealously tell herself that Y/N would never get along with Elijah, but inside, she knows it isn’t true. If Y/N can win over Rebekah when Rebekah was firmly opposed to the whole idea, then good-tempered Elijah would be a walk in the park to Rebekah’s bloody battlefield.

It makes Rebekah sick. She knows how this play turns out, doesn’t she? Rebekah has attended many showings, and no matter the venue, no matter the star actress, it always turns out the same. The hostage falls for a Mikaelson brother, not sister. In the end, there is love to be shared, but not with Rebekah. Never with Rebekah.

She wants to tighten her hold, but afraid of pushing Y/N away for good, she pretends as if nothing is the matter. Y/N doesn’t seem to notice the war brewing between Rebekah’s ribs. She spends more and more time in Rebekah’s room, talking over some issue or other. Sometimes, when the nights get low and Y/N forgets to leave, she’ll even fall asleep on Rebekah’s bed, or when leaning against her shoulder. It feels personal. It feels like maybe, it might even be Rebekah’s turn to fall in love.

She knows better, though. Of course Rebekah knows better. Rebekah has been through enough lifetimes to know that hope is a very rocky fissure upon which to build one’s aspirations. Even if a lot of her life has been spent daggered in a box, she still knows enough to not be naive. This story isn’t going to go her way. It never does.

She’d like it to, though. She really would. Y/N gets along with the whole family, and Rebekah can’t stop herself from imagining how nice it would be to have a significant other that wasn’t in danger of getting murdered by Klaus or Elijah for once. Klaus, with admittedly great reluctance, has come to value Y/N’s input. And Elijah’s conversations with Y/N seem to increase in number, but mainly whenever Rebekah isn’t around.

That happens a lot, actually. They’ll be getting along, thick as thieves, and then the moment Rebekah turns the corner and comes into their direct line of sight, the two of them mysteriously clam up. Keeping secrets, it seems. From her. And Rebekah reckons she can guess the subject matter quite well.

That’s it, then. That’s the mystery sorted, the grand question of which Mikaelson their latest hostage would fall for. It’s not as if this hasn’t happened before, but Rebekah finds herself far more disappointed than she had for any of the others. Vampires are protective and jealous and selfish, and Rebekah is the worst of them, but still, she swears she had never wanted anything quite like this before. Now this thing, this love, this woman, is out of her reach, and Rebekah’s entire existence has suddenly turned tragic.

Although she should take the high road and pretend that nothing is the matter, Rebekah has never been good at brushing off trivialities. Once, when she was younger, Klaus had told her that she had a ‘gift for theatrics.’ At first, she’d been delighted, assuming her brother believed her to be a master actress, and then she’d realized that Klaus’ words, as they always seemed to be, were nothing but a barb meant to wound her. Then she’d stomped around as usual, doing nothing to raise her spirits and only proving him right.

Stomping around can be rather satisfying, though. When Rebekah runs into Y/N and Elijah deep in a heated conversation one day, she just can’t take it anymore. This time, instead of running away and pretending as if she hadn’t seen a thing, Rebekah purposely walks towards them. Just as before, Y/N’s eyes go wide, and she hurriedly shuts up. 

Rebekah isn’t willing to let it slide, though. She stops in front of them and folds her arms across her chest. “What’s all this about? You look as if you’ve been caught red-handed. Which, I suppose, you have.”

Y/N grins weakly. “Nothing. We, uh, aren’t doing anything.”

Rebekah arches a brow. “That’s hardly believable, now, isn’t it? How about you try telling me the truth for once. I’d certainly like to hear it.”

Elijah claps his hands together. “Actually, I think this is a matter just for you and Y/N, my dear sister. I don’t believe this concerns me at all.”

Before either of them can stop him, Elijah disappears down the hall, gone in an instant. Y/N glares after him. “For an immortal vampire, he’s absolutely terrible when you want someone to stand by you.”

“That’s Elijah for you,” Rebekah murmurs. “He never likes it when we fight.”

“Yeah, well, I can hardly blame him,” Y/N muses. “Fighting with your family seems rather painful.”

“It is,” Rebekah instantly agrees, then remembers that she’s supposed to be upset. “Now, you can’t distract me anymore. Tell me what’s going on, I mean it. I know we’re friends, but you don’t have to hide things from me.”

Y/N’s eyes go wide. “You mean– you know? And you’re okay with it?”

Rebekah feels as if she’s been daggered. She almost wants to turn around and see if her murderous brother is standing behind her, ready to put her in a coffin again for another century or two. Y/N does like Elijah, then. How utterly heartbreaking. “Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?” She asks listlessly. “I know my brothers, and as far as Mikaelson men go, you chose the one who tends to be the most stable. Nothing wrong with that.”

Y/N’s brow furrows. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

Rebekah looks away. Thinking it is one thing, but admitting the painful truth aloud suddenly seems far worse. “You know. You’ve fallen in love with my brother.”

She isn’t sure how she expects Y/N to react. With relief, maybe, that she won’t have to hide anymore. What Rebekah certainly isn’t expecting is for Y/N to start laughing. “What? No, Rebekah, I’m not in love with Elijah. I’m in love with you.”

The floor seems to have fallen about beneath Rebekah’s feet. “With– with me?”

Y/N laughs again. It’s a lovely sound. “Yes, Bekah, I love you. It’s very easy to do, you know.”

Rebekah shakes her head, still not entirely sure that she isn’t dreaming or something. This certainly feels like a dream. “But– you’re always with Elijah– and you keep sharing secrets with him that you won’t tell me–”

Y/N grins. “That’s because I’m trying to make sure he won’t tell a soul. Elijah figured me out a few weeks ago. Mainly, though, I’ve been trying to persuade him to get me a few things. I want to bake something for you, and Klaus only ever keeps this house stocked with blood and alcohol. It’s sort of horrific, actually. You don’t even have baking soda.”

Rebekah’s brow furrows. “You wanted to bake me something? Why?”

Y/N’s smile turns quiet. “You mentioned it once. You were sad that no one had ever baked for you even though you were always making things for your brothers. I didn’t want you to feel that way anymore.”

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” Rebekah says softly. “I only mentioned it once.”

“I like listening to you, Rebekah.” Y/N tells her.

And at last, at long last, Rebekah knows why. She’s seen this play before. For once, she gets her happy ending.

vampire diaries tag list: @mayfieldss, @alex-1967s-blog

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[natsgrave]

TOLERATE IT | elizabeth olsen

while you were out building other worlds, where was i? you assume i'm fine, but what would you do if i break free and leave us in ruins? ( story inspired by @taylorswift song bcs i love her sm ) i'm not sure if someone else already wrote something like this or what, but if you see a story quite similar to this, let me know so i could give them a proper credit. thankyou!! ( colored wording would be the lyrics ) i do not give permission for my work to be copied or translated on other sites. plagiarism is a crime!! masterlist whispers of heartache m.list

Y/N'S POV Lizzie and I had been together for five years. We met in college, fell deeply in love, and spent countless nights talking about our dreams and aspirations. We were each other's rock, supporting each other through thick and thin.

But how can a perfect relationship turn into a toxic one where we barely talk anymore?

I sit and watch you reading with your head low

I don't know what happened. I don't know how to fix it, it that I didn't even know exist. One second we were fine then the next, we're like strangers.

All I could do is sit here and watch her read the script for her new movie. Reading with her head low and sitting far away from me, almost as if I have a disease. As if there's an invisible wall between us.

We would always sit in silence, her pretending to watch TV or read books, but the tension between us was palpable. I know she could feel my eyes on her, but she never spared me a glance. It was as if she was avoiding me intentionally.

Minutes ticked by, and I decided to make her food. After making anchovy, I gently touch her on the shoulder. She jumped, startled, and looked up to find me standing next to her, holding out a plate.

"I made you your favorite," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Anchovy toast."

Lizzie took the plate from my hand, "Thank you." she replied before looking back at the script once again.

I simply nodded and sat down where I originally sitting, and focused on my own hands folded in my lap with a sigh.

I wake and watch you breathing with your eyes close. I sit and watch you, I notice everything you do or don't do, you're so much older and wiser

I woke up around five in the morning, the sun hadn't completely risen yet, but the little lighting shone through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. My gaze fell upon my girlfriend, who lay beside me sleeping lightly. The rise and fall of her chest matched the rhythm of her breathing, a calming sight that used to bring me comfort.

As I lay in bed, I couldn't help but watch my partner, Lizzie, sleeping peacefully beside me. I stayed there, watching her for a moment and appreciate the sight before me. But despite the serenity of the scene, I still felt a pang of sadness in my heart.

Lizzie had always been a restless sleeper, constantly shifting positions throughout the night and sometimes even talking in her sleep. But tonight, she was lying completely still, her face calm and relaxed. If someone saw it, they would instantly let it go and think that she's in a deep slumber but I'm not just someone.

I know the truth.

She was pretending to be asleep and it felt like she didn't want to wake up beside me, like she is simply tolerating my presence.

I wait by the door like I'm just a kid, use my best colors for your portrait

They were small things I did for her, but meaningful nonetheless. Always wait by the door every day to greet her, to offer and show her some love and comfort after a hard day at work. I would always stand there, gazing out into the evening sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of my lover making her way home from work. It didn't matter what time it was, or how tired I am after a long day, I always made sure to be there, waiting for Lizzie.

I even took painting classes as it seemed to ease my mind. I poured all of my emotions into my painting, using every color in the palette to capture the beauty of Lizzie's face. I spent hours each day working on the portrait, trying to convey the depth of my feelings for her and I'd use my best colors for her portraits.

Lay the table with the fancy shit, and watch you tolerate it

I had always been a perfectionist when it comes to cooking and entertaining. I would always spent hours in the kitchen, preparing elaborate meals and setting beautiful tables for my lover. I would carefully select the finest ingredients, meticulously prepare each dish, and arrange the table with exquisite linens, flowers, and candles.

I'd make her favorite dishes, lay the table with best cutlery and yet again, no matter how hard I tried, she never seemed to appreciate my efforts. All Lizzie gave back were strained smiles, small and almost whispered hums, and nods in acknowledgment of my attempts, and a whisper of "thanks," as she shoveled the food into her mouth, barely taking the time to taste or savor any of it.

she seemed to simply… tolerate it.

If it's all in my head tell me now, tell me I've got it wrong somehow

Despite my best efforts to communicate openly and honestly with Lizzie, I felt like she wasn't really listening to me, and it made me feel invisible. I began to wonder if I was overthinking everything, if maybe I was the one who was misinterpreting our interactions. Maybe I was being too sensitive, too needy.

Maybe I was the one who was crazy, paranoid.

I felt so alone, so lost, and so unsure of what to do.

I know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it

I began to feel like I was living in a dream world where everything I created was invisible to everyone else. It was as if I was speaking a language that nobody understood, except for my own echoes in mind.

"Liz," I said with a trembling voice, "I've been giving everything I have to make you happy, but it feels like you don't see or appreciate it anymore. I feel taken for granted."

My choice of words caught her off guard, she paused for a moment before responding. "Y/N, I never asked you to do all these things for me. I don't need grand gestures to feel loved, I thought you knew that."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Was this really what our relationship had become? A constant stream of argument and neglect?

Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized the disconnect between our expectations. I had been trying so hard to show her love in a way that I thought she would appreciate, but it had only pushed us further apart.

And it happen, I finally snapped.

I felt a surge of anger and frustration well up inside of me.

Why was I putting so much effort into something that seemed to bring her no joy? Why did I care so deeply about pleasing someone who didn't seem to care about me at all?

I knew, I couldn't keep living this way, constantly pouring my heart and soul into something that brought me nothing but pain and disappointment. I realized that no matter how much I gave, Lizzie would never truly reciprocate and still, I constantly yearn for someone who clearly did not want me.

With a heavy heart, I packed my bags. Our relationship had become toxic, with me constantly sacrificing myself for someone who didn't appreciate me. I knew it was time to leave, before I lost any more pieces of myself.

Before leaving, I took a one last look, the last thing I want to remember was the way Elizabeth used to laugh at my jokes, enjoy our food, take me out on dates. The last thing I want to remember was how she used to love my presence, and not just tolerate it.

Maybe one day someone would be enough to have their love celebrated by her.

[neiptune]

on the outside of the greatest inside joke

cw: 3k wc, female reader, reader goes to therapy, enemies to potential lovers, swearing, pining, you simply can't believe the same tsukki your best friend has told you about ends up being the biggest asshole you've ever met. thank you @tetsuskei for helping me with this one!!!

blank blogs don't interact

Kenma’s pace is slow as he walks next to you, hands buried in the pockets of what is probably a very expensive jacket. He doesn’t seem fazed but you know he’s secretly pleased about the guy who stopped him right after getting off the subway, so pleased you had to gently pull him by the sleeve to remind him that it was getting late. The pout was there: no doubt, he would’ve loved to stay and spend the evening discussing fortnite strategies with a complete stranger who swore he didn’t miss a single one of his streams.

“Why are you coming anyway?”, he shoots you a glance from the corner of his eye, “you could’ve spared yourself this torture”.

“Tetsu insisted. I’m actually curious, I only ever met a few of your high school friends”, you lightly nudge his shoulder with yours. He pulls a face.

“You’d like Shoyo but he couldn’t make it. The amplified version of him will be there, though”.

“The amplified version?”, you chuckle.

“Yeah. You’ll see”.

“Stop pretending to be grumpy, I know you’re happy to see them again”.

His golden eyes find your fond smile and he scoffs. “Tetsu insisted”. 

“Whatever you say, Kenny”.

“Don’t call me that ever again”.

You stick your tongue out and Kenma rolls his eyes, turns his head the other way to hide a small smile. You’re actually happy you managed to form some sort of bond with him, somehow climb over the wall of paralizing shyness that has followed him like a shadow to his current quite popular, very successful days. Tetsu loves him dearly and so do you. Whether he sees you as a friend or as a presence that doesn’t necessarily bug him, isn’t really important. Kenma likes you enough to call to ask if you’d be down to head to the apartment together and gently take the bag containing the bottle of wine you insisted on bringing from your hand. That’s more than enough.

Tetsu’s apartment is in a fancy enough condominium, at walking distance from the Omotosando station. Aoto, the concierge, knows both you and Kenma by now and you bow to each other as soon as you walk through the carriage porch to enter the complex. Sometimes you still can’t believe the little kid with perpetually scraped knees who used to collect his ball from your backyard, toothy grin so big it took over his entire face, now has a house with heated floors and a freaking mist sauna.

A foreign, boisterous laugh echoes through the empty hallway the second you step out of the elevator and Kenma meets your astonished glance with a shrug. “Told you. Amplified”.

The door swings open before you have the chance to knock, your handsome, disheveled friend grinning so hard his dimples are showing. “Finally! Took you long enough!”, Tetsuro pulls you in a hug to tight you groan and a laugh rumbles in his chest at your playful attempts at pushing him back.

“Are you drunk already?”, Kenma gets inside with outstanding nonchalance, skilfully escaping the hand that threatens to ruffle his perfectly styled hair. 

“Of course not, we were waiting for you to get the party started”, you finally manage to escape his ironclad embrace but Kuroo simply refuses to let go and barely gives you the time to kick your shoes off before throwing an arm around your shoulders and quite literally pulling you inside.

There’s a small group of people crammed around the horigotatsu table in the living room. Despite his appetite for fanciness and expensive taste, Tetsu always preserved a sense of tradition that, to this day, brings him comfort. You remember the evenings spent at his grandparents’, all the dinners shared around that very same table.

“Everyone, please pay your respects to my second best friend in the entire world!”, he pushes your head down in a forced bow with a grin and you swat his hand away with a chuckle.

“Oh my god, it’s you! Finally!”, round, golden colored eyes that glimmer with sincere delight are suddenly in your line of vision, along with spiky grey hair and a muscular build that just screams pro-athlete.

“Hello!”, you smile, “I’m—”

“I know! Call me Kotaro!”, he grabs your hand to energetically shake it but you can tell he’s barely containing the urge to suffocate you in a hug. Oh. You chuckle as realization suddenly washes over you. Of course you know who he is, too.

“Hi, Kotaro. You’re the first celebrity I get to meet”.

He dramatically clutches his chest, astonished stare finding a very skeptical Kuroo who is looking at you with a frown.

“A celebrity. Oh, she’s wonderful. Where were you keeping her, Tetsuro? A celebrity. Keiji, did you hear that? She called me a celebrity! Can’t wait to tell Atsumu, he’s gonna hate it”, Bokuto grins so wide you can’t help but mirror his genuine joy, “come sit! Move over Tsukki, she’s sitting next to me”, he locks his arm with yours and you slip out of your best friend’s hold with ease and a giggle. That is until Kotaro frees your sightline and you freeze on the spot as soon as your eyes find those of the last person you’d expect to find there, casually snacking on a bowl of senbei. His hand stills mid air when your gaze meets his stoic one.

“What the hell”, he mutters, voice every bit as annoying as you recall. Somewhere on your forehead, a vein throbs.

“What the hell indeed”, you turn to look at Kuroo with an outraged grimace distorting your features, “you know him? As in he’s your friend?”.

“Who, Tsukki?”, Tetsuro cocks his head, “yeah, of course? I’m sure I mentioned him more than once”.

“That one’s Tsukki? The fun, talented, kind kohai from high school?!”, it’s clear that skepticism is oozing from every syllabe and Kuroo is taken aback, mouth opening and closing like a koi fish. 

“I was never his kohai”, the absolutely indifferent pitch makes your blood boil.

“I wasn’t asking you”.

“Hmm”, the hint of a smile teases his lips, “you’re being kinda rude. Again”.

“Okay, I’m honestly lost here”, Kuroo clears his throat but Bokuto lets out an amused laugh at complete odds with your suddenly sour mood.

“Let’s sit, so you can tell us all about the fascinating sparks that are flying here”, the wink he offers is met with a grimace.

“There are no sparks—”

“You haven’t met Keiji yet! Here, give me your coat, Tetsuro will take care of it”, you’re quite literally dragged to the table and then down on the floor, before you can protest or beg Kenma to sit next to you. For some foreign reason, Bokuto has you uncomfortably squeezing between him and the last person you’d want to sit next to who, for the record, is doing absolutely nothing to make room for you. Which, unfortunately, means that your leg is flush against his and your arm is dangerously close to be grazing the sleeve of his black shirt.

“This is Akaashi”, Kenma, sitting across from you, politely comes to the rescue and nods toward the one stranger you haven’t been introduced to yet.

“I’m sorry”, you duck your head with an apologetic smile, “nice to meet you. I promise I’m usually pleasant to be around”.

The little smile he tosses back supports you immensely in the grim task of ignoring the snort that comes from your left. “You wouldn’t be able to endure Tetsuro if you weren’t”.

“Yes, yes, that’s enough small talk”, Kuroo, hands free from your coat, arms occupied with more snacks and the wine you brought, flops down next to Kenma and narrows his eyes, “tell the story”.

“What story?”.

Tsukishima sighs, patience already running thin. “He’s asking about us. Not really the sharpest tool in the shed, are you?”.

“I see, so you’re just as much of a pain in the ass in your everyday life too. As expected”, you don’t even look at him as you accept the bowl of chips a frowning Tetsuro is offering. If Bokuto’s eyebrows could shoot higher, they’d be hanging on the ceiling by now.

“What happened?”, Kuroo is one snarky comeback away from imploding.

“She’s the reason why I couldn’t get my coffee this morning”, Tsukishima’s bored inflection is what prompts you to finally look at him. For a second, just a split second, you’re startled. By what, exactly? You’re not sure. He’s drinking from a can of beer so the pink on his cheeks was to be expected. What wasn’t expected is the speed at which his eyes dart to you in turn. Those glasses do an awful job at hiding just how big and brown they are. Are those golden specks? You’d have to get closer to find out but that would mean breathing in more of that masculine, woody cologne. Suddenly, you’re all too aware of how hot and sturdy his thigh feels against yours.

“Well, that’s an awfully long pause”, Bokuto snickers from your right and you flinch, pulling back so abruptly your back hits his chest.

Tsukishima offers another one of his enigmatic smirks.

“He’s the reason we’ve been kicked out of the coffee shop”, you grumble. The skin of your face feels on fire when you meet Kenma’s skeptical stare. You know him well enough to grasp that he’s clearly assuming something entirely different than what’s to assume.

“And that’s happened how?”, Akaashi’s gentle voice serves as an anchor you find yourself grabbing onto for dear life.

“I’ll tell you exactly how that happened”.

The place is busy and it’s your first time trying it out. The advice came directly from your therapist: trying something new opens up the possibility to find joy in something new. And that’s precisely why you’ve been staring at the list of hot beverages, cold beverages, drinks, cocktails, mocktails, teas, iced teas and desserts hung right behind the cashier.

“Have you decided?”, the woman is smiling but you can tell her eye is one second away from starting to twitch.

“Uh, not yet? I���m sorry, just a second”, your eyes keep frantically scanning the options over and over again but it’s like your brain is failing to register them, palms sweaty, self-awareness gnawing at your alarmed mind.

“Can you hurry up? Some of us can’t spend the day waiting in line”, the sharp, annoyed voice makes you jump and you turn around to apologize, tears practically teasing the corners of your eyes already, but you find a young man looking back at you with such an infuriating scowl that the apology dies on your tongue.

“Menu is the other way”, he points an annoyingly long finger toward the wall behind you, “just get a cinnamon vanilla latte with soy milk and caramel drizzle or something and let’s get going”.

The condescending, bordering mocking suggestion is what infuriates you the most and suddenly all the humiliation you were feeling leaves room for nothing but rage.

“Why don’t you learn how not to act like a primitive asshole?”.

“You have ten people who’ve been waiting for you to make up your mind for the past hour and I’m the asshole?”.

“I would be done by now if you hadn’t rudely interrupted me!”.

“Hey…”, the cashier attempts to chime in but your anxiety and frustration are getting the better of you and this stranger is just being so unnecessarily mean.

“And, for the record, that is so not my usual order!”.

His eyebrows furrow and a tiny crease appears between them, right above the bridge of his infuriatingly petite nose.

“I’m sorry if I came off the wrong way”, he balances the words carefully, with a seemingly sweet inflection “truth is, I couldn’t care less about your usual order. Just order anything before we all grow collectively old here”.

You let out a scoff with an incredulous smile. “You really are the biggest prick I’ve ever met”.

“I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to ask you both to leave”, the cashier interrupts the ridiculous quarrel and the humiliation is back in all its glory, the annoyed stares of all those standing in line suddenly burning through your body.

“I hope you’re not insinuating that any of this is even remotely my fault”, the stranger is visibly experiencing utter disbelief but really, you’re done. A quick bow to the cashier and a barely uttered apology to the strangers still waiting for their turn is all you manage to put together before heading out. Oh, the entire thing is going to become such a fun conversation to have with your therapist.

“Hope you’re happy, I only arrived in Tokyo half an hour ago and I’m already out of the best coffee in Ueno”, the voice, the literal stuff nightmares are made of, follows you outside and once again you are denied a very much needed crying sesh. Jesus, fuck this guy. Seriously, fuck him. So what if you took a little too long? Hasn’t he ever heard of distress? Fatigue? Just how familiar is he with the human emotional spectrum exactly?

“You may as well choke on your next coffee for all I care”, you direct him a saccharine smile and the way his jaw tenses can finally count as a small win.

“How civilized of you”.

“Hope you have a horrible day!”, you wave and turn around to march back to your neighborhood, to your favorite cafe, to the coffee order that hasn’t let you down once in the past ten years. Phone in hand, you’re already calling Tetsuro to tell him all about your horrible, horrible morning. Only to curse under your breath when, against all odds (because who the hell could he even be talking to this early?), you’re met with a busy tone.

“Wait, she’s the crazy coffee shop girl you were telling me about?”, Kuroo stares at his friend in complete shock and Tsukishima’s lips twitch.

“Obviously”.

Bokuto lets out a low whistle. “Wow. What a heated first encounter”.

“I feel like I couldn’t properly convey just how presumptuous he was”, you hope you have found an accomplice at least in Akaashi, who seems the only genuinely sane person in the room and yes, that’s including you firsthand.

“There’s no need, we’ve known him since high school”, he succeeds in drawing a smile and you’re grateful. You wish you were sitting next to him instead of the annoyingly-tall-even-when-seated dude who scoffs once more.

“I feel so welcome, thank god I accepted to take part in this reunion”, Tsukishima finishes his beer with a single, long sip.

“Of course you’re welcome, Kei!”, Bokuto leans over from behind your back to squeeze his friend’s shoulder, “you just need to hone your social skills some more!”.

“She gets nervous”, Kenma’s calm voice cuts through the conversation and, as it usually happens, all eyes turn to him in quiet surprise, “in unfamiliar situations, when she’s doing something different. She gets nervous”, he doesn’t look at you, he isn’t looking at anyone really. The dorayaki tray seems to be the only one deserving his undivided attention.

There’s a pause. Tetsuro’s stare softens when he locks eyes with you.

“Yeah, that’s true. Insecurity can be easily played off as aggressiveness, did you know?”, his signature smirk is back when his eyes shift to Tsukishima. The leg still pressing against yours gets suddenly stiff.

“Enough talking about me”, your chuckle sounds forced and Kenma looks up from the tray “I want to know all about high school and volleyball”, you avoid his gaze and refuse to meet Tetsuro’s, the giant smile tense at the corners directed at Bokuto and Akaashi only.

They indulge you. In fact, they all do, and soon enough your little dispute is forgotten and the atmosphere gets less tense. You decide to be the bigger person and, instead of pretending Tsukishima isn’t even there, you politely look at him when he talks and laugh if any playful banter rises between him and Kuroo. You don’t notice that Tsukki looks and listens too, when you’re deep in conversation with someone else or reply to Bokuto’s dumb never have I ever statements. He finds it odd that you two end up drinking almost the same amount, a list of seemingly stupid shared experiences that grows longer the more the game continues around the circle.

Tsukishima Kei doesn’t feel guilty, he’s just good at admitting to himself when he’s wrong. Not that anyone else needs to know, of course. The habit of being too quick to judge others has followed him ever since high school and it annoys him that, as an adult, he still doesn’t know better. Does he want to make this right because he’s not sure he’ll have the chance to do so again? Is the beer clouding his mind, making his body move on autopilot when he gets up shortly after you disappear into Kuroo’s kitchen? Either way, he’s there when you turn around with a tray of fresh mini sandwiches and you’re not immediately bolting by him and he thinks this would be a wonderful time for his big brain to put a few judicious words together.

But then you awkwardly shift your weight from one foot to the other and clear your throat. “I’m sorry about this morning. And for insinuating that you’re a caveman”, you shrink in yourself a little, head hanging lower.

“And for hoping I choke on my next coffee?”.

You snort out what almost sounds like a laugh. “Yeah, definitely. That was mean. But, honestly, you—”

“I was an asshole”, he calmly interrupts, the actual apology clawing at his throat to come out to no avail, “happens a lot, or so I’m told”.

When you finally look up from what you’re holding in your hands and your lips curl into a smile so sincere, Tsukishima almost smiles back. What the hell.

“Let’s chalk it up to us both having a bad morning. Deal?”.

He stares for a second too long, then gently offers “deal” and you leave the kitchen with a friendly nod, fully missing out on the opportunity to catch an amused twitch of the lips, honeyed gaze turning inexplicably soft.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Unsteady

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x mage!reader

Warnings: allusion to yandere, canon-typical violence, mentions of murder, exhausted and crying Aemond, hurt/comfort.

Words: 2k

Summary: Quiet, you stand together, leaning on the balcony and watching the dead sea, each left to your own thoughts. The silence between you is not strained but comforting, an indication of peace and, perhaps, some sort of unity. In the end, you are on his side.

P.S. Well, here we are! Hope you enjoy my first HOTD story!

___________

Your continous lack of sleep is slowly making you delirious. Tossing and turning in bed for hours, you can almost imagine stealing the sword of your guard and going on a rampage inside the Red Keep: this is how hopelessly tired you feel.

You take a breath. When you close your eyes, you are back home. You see the blinding light shine through the vast windows, the ancient walls made of sand and magic, and so many embroidered red and yellow pillows on the floor they nearly cover it all. Young girls and boys sing incantations that sound like music in the courtyard. If you turn your head to the east wing, you can smell barley bread baked in the kitchen along with sweet date cookies that will be served tonight as they have been for centuries.

But when you open your eyes, you see only the darkness of the room that isn't yours; a foreign castle where it's so painfully hard to breathe, to think; a gloomy, hostile world you are being held as a prisoner. Nothing here reminds you of home. You are a stranger to these lands, these people.

Nevertheless, you can't leave. Not yet. Not until the new King is crowned and your promise is fulfilled.

You stumbled upon this world by mistake, the new spell taking you in a completely different direction from where you were supposed to land. You were awaited in Turas, a place with the densest population of witches and warlocks, but you landed here, in this godforsaken little world with almost no magic left in it sans some dragons and a very few ancient priestesses who are impossible to locate. Without a great source of magic, you can't travel between dimensions, your coiffers empty from your last attempt. And although there is some great force in the dragon's fire, you need permission of its owner to have their pet shooting flames at you. Enraging Vhagar and having her blow fire at you for a minute or two doesn't work since she does it for far too short, and the spell needs more time. You tried.

But Otto Hightower will sooner stuff his mouth with glass than let you go and miss an opportunity to have you aid the Greens.

So you stay. You pretend to be the Queen's niece, a daughter of her older cousin, eager to come to court and serve the Crown. You do almost exactly that, to be precise: hunt down the spies like Talia and a few other maids, force information out of people with the help of your spells, and sometimes murder someone who's notoriously hard to kill.

Not Rhaenyra, though. Alicent forbids.

You hate it here with all your being. This realm is a cage. There are no good sides in the court - neither green nor black. Regardless of who wins, people will suffer. This place is doomed, and you ache to get as far from it as you can, back to the ancient Tower of Babylon on the crossroads of the worlds, the only place you call home. Every single day spent in Westeros, you miss it along with your people.

Finally, you realize you can't sleep. Laying on this ridiculously uncomfortable bed, albeit quite lavish, in hopes of falling asleep is silly, and you stand up, searching for your dress. Perhaps it is worth taking a stroll before returning to bed. Maybe the chilling air will clear your head and your heart.

Slipping away from your room without guards noticing is as easy as taking a candy from a child, your magic clouding their mind, lulling them in the false sense of security. You can't make people do what you want directly, or frankly, you wouldn't be here, but your spells are most helpful to obscure the mind and blur the vision, and you luckily evade a few servants and more guards on your way as you unlock the door to one of the numerous balconies, usually deserted both during the day and at night.

But you're not alone. You walk in only to stare at the sharp features of Aemond who looks like he wants to skewer an intruder on his sword, his expression both painful and enraged.

When he recognizes your face, he softens, though.

"Cousin," you smile at him anxiously, playing brave as you stroll closer, pretending you are glad to see him.

He relaxes his tightly clenched, thin lips, and you see how tired and utterly exhausted he seems, his eye bloodshot as he stands in his full day attire as if he didn't event attempt to go to bed, knowing he won't sleep. Perhaps Aemond seems malicious and fiery to others, standing tall among other Targaryen siblings, but to you, he is only a boy. A mutilated, desperate to survive youngest son with no one but his mother on his side. Otto molds his abused grandchild into the perfect dragon warrior and a vicious protector of the Greens, expecting him to be there when Aegon is made king, and it makes you sick to keep watching them.

Still, it is not your story. Not your place to change things, however wrong they are. You will be gone soon, and you should leave these people to their fate.

"You don't have to call me that when we're alone," he mutters, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Would you prefer my Prince?" You let out a snicker in hopes to get him to smile wider, but he doesn't, turning back to face the darkness above the sea, his hands on the stone rails.

He doesn't look good. The shadow beneath his eye intensify, eyelid droopy, and his lips are cracked and dry, but it is his expression that worries you most of all. Aemond looks like he is barely holding on, slowly being buried under the pressure of Otto's expectations and Alicent's maniac fear for his life. He lives on a knife-edge, and you wouldn't want to trade places with him even under a promise to rule the whole Westeros.

Quiet, you stand together, leaning on the balcony and watching the dead sea, each left to your own thoughts. The silence between you is not strained but comforting, an indication of peace and, perhaps, some sort of unity. In the end, you are on his side. Despite how much you dislike being entangled in the intrigues of the court, you have compassion towards Alicent and her children. You wish you could take them away from this place and let them discover what a true life behind the castle walls is.

Besides, over the course of many months spent here, you grow surprisingly fond of Aemond. You are unsure if it is his spirit, perhaps, or his passion that draws you towards him, but he is fascinating, one of a kind. The only one who keeps trying over and over again; who keeps pushing forward, paving the road for his mother and siblings despite the unfair treatment. It is attractive, isn't it?

If only people stop messing with his head.

Suddenly, Aemond winces, and the spell is broken between the two of you when you stare at him, anxious again. Unsurprisingly, he turns away, but this time, you are too concerned to leave him alone.

"Aemond, what is it?" You ask, planting your hands on his shoulders to stop him from moving away from you.

Stubborn, he turns his head, nonetheless, and doesn't speak a word like he's a kid all over again, pretending everything is fine. You catch a glimpse of his swollen eye, the veins in it so red you realize he is hurt.

"Are you in pain?"

He says nothing at all until you grab his face between your hands and make him look at you, forcing him to bend over to you because he certainly has blood of the giants in his veins. Looking him straight in the eye, you feel him trembling in your hands, panic surging through you. What is it? Did he get hurt during one of his endless trainings? Is it something else? A slow poison? An old wound?

"It can't hurt in there," he whispers angrily, tears rolling down his cheek as he looks to the side, hopelessly trying to evade your eyes. "I don't even have it anymore."

It takes you a second to realize what he means. He is talking about his other eye.

Letting go of his face, you bit your lips, wishing you could do anything at all to fix it. Were you there the night he was mutilated, you could have saved the eye, make Aemond whole again, but it's far too late. You aren't capable of recreating limbs or any other body parts out of thin air.

"We call it phantom pain."

Swallowing, you raise your hand to his eyepatch, and he flinches, refusing to let you lift it. You voice softens as you take him by the hand. "I promise, I won't take it off."

Aemond looks like he'd rather have you put a red-hot poker in his mouth, but he stills, tears still streaming down his chin while you murmur incantations, your palm covering his eyepatch. Perhaps your voice soothes him, or perhaps the spell works swiftly, but he quiets down fast, unmoving as you numb his pain. It is one of a few things you can do just for him, not because you are serving the Greens, and you wish he'd tell you when he's hurt. You wish he'd seek your help.

It's been several minutes: the spell should have fully kicked in, you believe. Slowly taking your palm away from his eyepatch, you observe your prince carefully, watching for any signs of discomfort to patch him up further, if needed. As you take his face in your hands and ask him to please let you examine him, make sure he feels better, Aemond suddenly sniffs again, his shoulders shaking violently.

You pull him into your embrace without even recognizing what you are doing. It is a reflex of sorts, a simple reaction to someone's distress. Back at home, your teachers would always tease you for your relentless desire to comfort people, calling you a wannabe therapist. But that was back there, in a safe, kind place where people don't fight for the thrones, power, and money. This world and its inhabitants are painfully different.

Maybe not in everything, though. Because the next thing you know, Aemond is bending over to lean on you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, his hands around your back. He shakes like a leaf, like a child who had known no comfort, no safety. It is the first time you see him like that, so defenseless and bare, because Aemond is fearsome even in private with his family, and he made you nervous on numerous occasions with his intense stare or a strained, disturbing smile. It feels almost unreal to have him here, in your hands, crying like a human being.

But he is real, and he is human.

"You'll get better," you promise him, gently whispering words of comfort in his ear, suddenly thankful he doesn't see you tearing up yourself. "I'll make the pain go away."

Those are hollow words: you can only treat him again and again, not make the pain disappear forever, but it should suffice for now, and he will be able to sleep.

How many nights did he spend here, standing and trying to overcome pain in something that can't heal? He would never tell his mother not to antagonize her again about not protecting her child. Otto, undoubtedly, would simply say something along the "deal with it" lines, you think, feeling distressed. This must have been going on for years since Aemond was a child. You can't possibly leave him alone with his pain.

Clinging to you, he shudders silently, not a sound coming from him as if he learned how to cry noiselessly over the years on a balcony. When you try to move a little, he presses himself to you even tighter, not letting you go, but you don't plan on pushing him away. In this moment, you are ready to give him anything he asks.

You don't know the sort of emotion it awakens in him when he feels it, too.

[thdorkmagnet]

Scaredy Shells (Turtle Tots: Before the Rise)

@flufftober 2024 Day 12- “This is spooky.” - “Really?”

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Chapter Summary: The boys go trick or treating for the first time.

A/N: Skipped a few days ahead to bring you all a themed chapter!!

Happy Halloween!! :)

Disclaimer: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles belongs to Andy Suriano, Ant Ward, and Nickelodeon. All rights belong to them.

Mikey skipped along behind his brothers and April, swinging his pumpkin bucket beside him with each joyful step. Halloween was awesome! Mikey decided. Easily the best holiday. Oh, except for Christmas. And also Easter! And Valentine’s Day! And-

Point was, Mikey loved Halloween! Especially when this year dad said they could finally go trick or treating! They'd begged for it every year of course but dad had always said it was dangerous- even though they'd pointed out a million times everyone would be in costumes. But this year, they had April and she had a magical way of talking their dad into things they couldn’t (just one more reason she was the coolest!). 

And trick or treating was everything Mikey had imagined and more! He got to dress up in a costume and get candy and see all the fun decorations everywhere! 

He’d spent a long time figuring out exactly what costume to wear, since it was his first one so it had to be perfect. And after a lot of consideration he'd decided on dressing up as an orange kitty cat, complete with painted on whiskers and a tail that Donnie had rigged to gently swing back and forth. He was super proud of his new look, parading all over the neighborhood looking just like his favorite stuffed animal Klunk. 

It had taken a few attempts for him to get used to the whole ‘taking candy from strangers’ thing but now he was easily the best trick or treater ever! Especially when, early in the night an old woman had started cooing over how cute he looked in his costume and slipped him an extra piece of candy. That had blown Mikey’s little mind more than square pizza! But it wasn’t a fluke, because it happened again a few houses later, Mikey receiving an extra handful of candy along with a sharp pinch on his cheek.

That’s when it had clicked in his head that this was something he could milk and quickly started hamming up his already natural cuteness. He batted his eyes up at the humans, overemphasized the lisp from his missing front tooth, and sometimes even put on a little show as he meowed and pretended to lick his paws like a real cat. And the humans fell for it hook line and sinker! Mikey’s bucket was soon overflowing with candy, while the rest of the fam were barely scraping halfway. 

Which Leo was not happy about at all. “It’s not fair, why do you keep getting more candy than us?” the slider whined for probably the fifth time that night, stomping his foot and trying to look annoyed. Which ended up just looking silly thanks to the bright blue unicorn costume he was wearing. Colorful rainbow manes and bubbly blue horns were just impossible to take seriously, Mikey decided. 

“Guess I’m just better at trick or treating than you,” Mikey bragged, shooting his big brother a teasing grin. 

“Are not!” Leo snapped.

“Then why do I have more candy than everybody else?” 

“Uhhh because you keep playing the baby card on all the humans!” Leo assessed with a roll of his eyes. “Which is totally cheating by the way.”

“Me? Cheat?” Mikey said, feigning innocence, blinking impossibly big eyes up at him. “Wha dwo you mean big bwover?”

“You’re doing it right now!” Leo shouted, flabbergasted. 

“Dwoing wha?” Mikey asked, totally doing it. 

Leo groaned before looking to his eldest sibling for backup. “Raph tell Mikey to stop cheating!”

Raph looked back at them with a puzzled look. Mikey knew he hadn’t been paying attention since he’d been huddled with Donnie for the last few minutes exchanging candy. Since Raph couldn’t have peanut butter and there were a bunch of flavors Donnie wouldn’t eat it only made sense they would be the ones swapping treats with each other. Which was good because Mikey wasn’t giving up his horde for the world!

“What’s Mikey doing?” Raph asked, hand still buried deep in his bucket. He was dressed up as a pink bear with an adorable heart stitched into its belly, which Mikey had approved of instantly. Because if there was one thing Mikey would relate Raph to, it was a big cuddly teddy bear. He’d even said that he and Mikey were matching since they’d both dressed up as their favorite plushies which had made Mikey giggle. 

“I believe Nardo is once again complaining about our youngest brother’s skill in acquiring more candy than him,” Donnie answered dry, carefully examining a piece of chocolate like it might be poisonous or something. It was so weird to see someone dressed as the Lou Jitsu acting so emotionless about everything but, well, Donnie had called double dibs after Leo so that’s the way it was. Not even Leo was gonna disgrace the sacred rule of dib calling! 

Raph frowned in annoyance, rolling his eyes so hard Mikey was surprised they didn’t stick. “Cool it, Leo. Just let Mikey do his thing,” Raph said absentmindedly, going back to digging through his bucket.

Leo huffed, frustrated, pouty lip firmly in place. 

Normally Mikey would leave it at that but well, gloating felt really good right now so… “Yeah Leo. Just let me do my thing,” Mikey repeated with more than a little sass. 

Leo opened his mouth to retort but right then April blurted, “Next stop! Get your trick or treating faces on, boys!” and he had no choice but to let it go. Still looking none too happy about it, though. 

April had the most experience trick or treating so she stayed in the lead, guiding Mikey and his brothers through her sure-fired Halloween routine, one she had perfected over several years. She knew exactly which neighborhoods to hit up, which houses were candy gold-mines and which were stingy jerks. She navigated each area with expertise that could only come from a professional trick or treater. If Mikey wasn’t already the best at it, he’d probably think he had so much to learn from her. 

She had dressed up as a witch this year, complete with a big pointy hat and broomstick which she kept using to point at stuff whenever she felt the need to explain something to the brothers. Mikey had offered to be her cat (even though he was pretty sure witches didn’t have orange cats) and she’d giggled and said she’d love that, which made Mikey beam sunshine. 

They all got their candy from the next house (Mikey with a few pieces extra, hehe) and then continued on their way, April leading them across the street and into a more secluded neighborhood. Only she suddenly paused with a jolt, turning to all of them with a strained smile and suddenly declaring, “Okay so crazy thought but we’ve done plenty of trick or treating for one year, right? So how’s about we wrap up for the night and head back to the Lair to watch some Halloween specials or something, huh?”

Instantly everyone was protesting, Mikey included. Sure he barely had any room left in his bucket but he was still having way too much fun to stop now! It only happened once a year, he wanted to experience everything!

“Okay, okay,” April finally conceded, once the boy’s voices started overlapping each other. She still seemed hesitant for some reason but she finally continued to walk, muttering, “Just… don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

It didn’t take long before Mikey and his brothers learned what April had meant by that because they soon came upon the most terrifying sight Mikey had ever seen in his few short years of life. It was a house, old and decayed and practically falling apart, ghosts and ghouls and all manners of spooks hung from windowsills and scaffolding. The late hours of the night seemed to bathe the whole building in menacing shadows that left a chill down Mikey’s spine. There were gravestones scattered all over the front yard- with spooky sounding names written on each one- a literal cemetery standing between them and candy. 

But the worst of it all was the creepy looking man sitting on the front steps, wearing a black cloak and a bloodstained mask, the bowl of treats perched in his lap as if he was standing guard over it. 

Mikey gulped and ducked behind Raph to hide, while the others stared up at the creepy mansion in varying levels of wide-eyed fright. 

“April, what the heck is this?!” the snapper squeaked.

“That would be the Dooley house,” April replied, her voice low and dripping in menace and dramatic tension. It instantly put Mikey on edge. “The rest of the year it's a nice normal house in a nice normal neighborhood. But on Halloween night, the curse comes to life! Gravestones rising from the ground, showing all who have perished in its halls!” Mikey chirped once in distress, ducking his head into his shell and wishing it was soundproof, he didn't want to hear anymore. 

“At least that's my theory,” April continued neutrally and Mikey breathed a sigh of relief. Oh good, no more scary story, they could just keep walking and forget all about-

“Soooo, what's with the guy in the mask?” Leo asked, trying to sound normal but it shook a little. What, no?! They were supposed to be leaving!

“Oh yeah, he's also part of the curse,” April explained, sounding way too calm about the whole thing. “He shows up on Halloween and sits right there, waiting to grab any trick or treaters who try and take his candy.” 

“And why are the Dooley's allowing him to sit on their porch and frighten young children all night?” Donnie asked skeptically. 

“Would you wanna tell the guy covered in blood to leave?” April retorted. 

“...Touche.” 

“W-What happens if he catches you?” Raph asks in a small voice, the only one here who sounded as scared as Mikey felt. 

“Dunno. Probably something bad though.”

Mikey whimpered and fought back the urge to tuck the rest of his limbs inside. Instead he reached blindly for Raph's hands, seeking comfort from his big, cuddly protector. He felt Raph grab on tight and squeeze, which did make him feel a little bit better. Enough that he cautiously peeked his head out of his shell and glanced up. 

Yep. Still towering, still terrifying. 

He took a step closer to Raph. 

The twins and April were still talking, none of them in any hurry to get far, far away from the apparently cursed and very dangerous building. In fact, it almost sounded like they wanted to actually go over there. Which was just crazy! 

And even crazier, Raphie wasn't telling them no!    

They saw the scary thing already- fulfilled the whole Halloween spirit deal- they were all good and scared, now was the part where they were supposed to leave!

“I don't like it here,” Mikey blurted, hoping his power as youngest brother might win them over. “This is spooky.” 

 All eyes immediately turned to him and he didn't bother to hide his discomfort, shifting anxiously from foot to foot.

“Really?” Leo was the first to respond, eyebrows raising and- wait, why did he look so smug? “Sooo does that mean you're not going over there to get your candy.” 

Mikey shrugged, face hot despite the chill in the air. It wasn’t working, starting to cross the line into embarrassing. 

“That's okay, bud you don't have to,” Raph reassured, patting him once on the head. 

“Yeah,” Leo agreed. Only to add, “It just means you aren't the better trick or treater after all and a scaredy shell.” he shrugged, looking quite proud of himself. “But y’know, no biggie.” 

“Leo!�� Raph and April both snapped at the same time Mikey yelled, offended, “I'm not a scaredy shell!”

“What?! I said it wasn't a big deal.” Leo’s innocent grin did nothing to dissuade the two oldest, if anything it only made them glare harder. 

“I'm not a scaredy shell,” Mikey repeated, puffing out his cheeks like a chipmunk. An adorable kitten-turtle chipmunk. “I-I could get the candy if I wanted to.”

“Oh yeah, prove it,” Leo said, tone landing somewhere between joking and challenging, leaving Mikey firmly in the middle of the two. He decided he didn't like either one. 

Mikey looked back at the house, towering and menacing. He looked at the gravestones. At the stranger sitting on the steps, waiting. At the bowl of candy. He let out a breath through his nose before saying, “Fine”-

-and took off running. 

“Mikey!” four voices yelled behind him but he didn't focus on them. 

He didn't focus on the gravestones lining the path either or the fear pounding loud in his eardrums or the horrifying man he was running straight for, because all of those things would lead to him chickening out. 

So he just kept running.

He was at the steps much faster than it felt, time getting weird and wonky thanks to the panic coursing through Mikey’s veins. The next few seconds happened almost in slow motion as Mikey reached a hand into the bowl, grabbing the first piece of candy he could, only for Leo to then grab him, wrapping both arms around his waist. Raph appeared next, grabbing both of them, and that was when the stranger turned. 

He moved towards them in an awkward, jerky manner, eyes blinking red and a haunting laugh bellowing from deep in his throat. Mikey shrieked, as did his two brothers, terror freezing him in place as he looked deep into the stranger’s horrible glowing eyes, nearly going limp with fear. 

He felt Raph start to scoop him up off the ground- snapping him out of his trance- and in the split second Mikey had to react he grabbed the entire bowl of candy. Then he and Leo were both whisked over Raph’s shoulders as the snapper turned tail and ran. 

From his position Mikey watched as the stranger waved a clawed hand around the exact place Mikey had just been, still laughing maniacally as he did. Mikey gulped and buried his head in the soft fur of his brother’s costume so he wouldn’t have to see anymore. 

There was yelling and screaming and general panicking from his brothers and pseudo-sister as they fled the scene, Mikey not daring to look up until Raph finally came to a stop a few blocks away from the house. April and Donnie caught up with them a moment later, panting and gasping for air, so his big brother must have left them in a trail of dust in his haste to get away.

They all took a moment to just catch their breath, Mikey and Leo still held in Raph’s gentle grip, the box turtle feeling his heart pounding against his ribcage painfully. 

But then someone laughed. A giggle. From Leo of all people. 

Mikey and the others all looked at him like he had six heads, but Leo just kept laughing. “We did it! We survived!” he suddenly shouted, grinning bright. 

And then Raph snorted and started laughing too. And then April started in with her own giggles. And then Donnie. And surprisingly even Mikey started to chuckle a little. It really couldn't be helped since Leo’s laughter was more contagious than the rat flu. 

Surprisingly though, Mikey started to feel relief from all the sudden laughter and it steadily grew in volume, all the worry and stress just melting off of him in waves. Soon everyone was laughing hysterically, wiping tears from their eyes and clutching sore stomachs. 

“That was terrifying!” Mikey shouted, between gasps for air.

“I don't think I've ever been more scared of anything in my life!” Raph added, smiling big and dumb. 

“Then why are we laughing?” Donnie asked cluelessly, trying to reign in the giggle fit.

“That's the magic of Halloween, dude!” April exclaimed wistfully. “Sometimes it's fun to get scared!” 

Mikey wasn't sure about that- he would probably get a few nightmares from this- but April was almost never wrong so he figured he'd take her word for it. 

“Did you manage to score any candy, Mike?” Raph asked and Mikey nodded. 

“Actually I managed to grab…” Mikey proudly held the bowl high over his head like a trophy. “All of them!” 

There were whoops and screams and congratulations from the others, even Leo surprisingly cheering for his little brother. The slider stood up in Raph’s arms, one foot perched on his shoulder and a hand raised in a dramatic hero pose, which only looked hilarious since he was still dressed as a unicorn. 

“Oh yeah! Take that you ugly, mask-wearing jerk!” Leo declared triumphantly, causing the others to start laughing again.

“Sooo does this mean I’m the better trick or treater, after all,” Mikey asked cheekily. 

That seemed to remind Leo of the earlier incident, eyes flashing with regret while the rest of him stayed frozen and unresponsive. He flopped back down in Raph’s arms, trying to hide his flush of embarrassment as he picked at a loose string from his big bro’s costume. “Um, yeah, maybe.”

“Maybe?” Raph pressed, shaking Leo once in his arms to try and encourage more out of him. 

Leo frowned, but finally relented. “Alright, fine. Yes. You might be a little better than me at this one thing.” 

Mikey beamed, pride swelling big and golden in his chest. That’s all he’d wanted to hear. 

The group decided to head back to the Lair after that, eager to enjoy their spoils of a successful night of trick or treating. April excitedly put on her favorite spooky movie, which Mikey was hesitant about until he saw the animation which April called “claymation”. It was really cool and unique and Mikey spent most of the movie just watching the way the characters and things moved, wondering if he could ever replicate it.

But then he felt a tap on the shoulder and reluctantly shifted eyes away from the screen and onto his blue brother. Leo was blushing, his cheeks nearly the same shade as his stripes, holding out a piece of Mikey’s favorite candy, not from their pile of sweets from the earlier heist but from his very own bucket. 

Mikey grinned and eagerly accepted the gift, before doing the same for Leo, offering a chocolate bar the both of them loved. Leo looked touched, taking the king-sized bar with a lopsided smile. 

Mikey scooted closer so he was leaning against his big brother’s side, finally peeling off the wrapper and devouring the whole bar in two bites. Leo wrapped an arm around him, absentmindedly eating his own snack and watching the movie. 

Mikey cuddled closer, resting his cheek against his brother’s shell, and grabbed another candy from the pile, settling in for a long night of spooky movies with his family.

Yep, Halloween really was the best.

[fruityrituals]

soft kisses

eddie munson x steve harrington

cw: fluff, smoking, secret relationship

comments: keep hateful and homophobic comments to yourself because I will not tolerate it, thanks!

Narrative Writing Prompt: Write a scene between two of your favorite characters with no dialogue. Make it a quiet private moment where we see what they’re like together when no one else is around.

-

Stranger Things Masterlist

Main Masterlist

(art above by plasticlamb on instagram | divider below by @cafekitsune )

songs: Secret Lover by Atlantic Starr | Keep on Loving You by REO Speedwagon

Eddie Munson. A metal head who was very much into his music, his guitar, playing dungeons and dragons and smoking weed. He was the town freak and not liked by many, thats only because people just made assumptions about him. The only friends he had where the kids in his Hellfire Club, but he was fine with that and how they worshipped him and respected him as their leader.

Steve Harrington. A heartthrob of the town who is loved by most but not desired by all. He was pretty known for his good hair and the constant talk about girls and finding a girlfriend. You could always find him with his best friend Robin either arguing or talking about boobs. That was on brand for them.

See the thing is about these two is there is something that no one knew about them. They were in love. No one knew about this because in that day and age they lived in, being in a gay relationship was looked down upon. Eddie didn’t care what people thought of him, so this quiet relationship wasn’t his idea. It was Steves, and he respected that because he wasn’t ready.

When these two were alone, they were inseparable. Eddie came off to people as a freak who was loud and mean and scary and thought he probably worshipped satan and had a cult, while Steve came off as cocky but sweet and had an obsession with girls, but when they were alone, it was different.

Eddie loved playing guitar for him and Steve loved watching him. He would always play Steve his favorite songs even though Eddie liked to call them “stupid pop songs” just to tease him. He would of course make Steve listen to his music also which Steve liked to tease him by pretending his ears were going to bleed.

They often spent their time laying in bed together talking or sometimes just laying there in silence, Steve stroking Eddies hair and Eddie rubbing his thumb along Steves cheeks and lips. They would admire each other quietly for hours, sometimes foreheads pressed together, eyes closed and they just lay there while occasionally stealing small kisses from each other.

Other days, they would smoke together and Eddie would teach Steve how to play guitar even though he was completely horrible at it. Steve would make Eddie learn a dance from Dirty Dancing and he would pout about it the whole time but always ends up smiling and laughing because he was just happy whenever Steve was.

Both of them were normally very reserved with their emotions, but with each other, they shared everything. They often spoke about what their life would be like if they ran away together to be happy and it would always make the both of them cry because they felt like they couldn’t do that. They just loved each other so much but everything was all too hard and fresh. They would go back to their caressing and resting in each other’s embrace.

[pandoraimperatrix]

Wandering Worlds

DickKory | Core Four Centric | Cannon Divergence | Longfic

Summary:

The story begins with the death of Dick Grayson. His life taken by his own brother, Jason. Consumed by grief, Rachel gives in to despair, losing control, a portal opens, but from it no destroyer of words come through. Instead a man who looks just like him, how can he be? The Titans, and especially Kory has to mourn their fallen leader and deal with this stranger with a lot of issues of his own. After that, when everything seem to be settling, Kory is forced to return to Tamaran, but she wasn't as alone in her destiny as she thought, neither her family of choice was willing to let her go that easily. But politics in Tamaran can be as complicated as travelling across universes.

————————————–

Part Four – Voyagers

Chapter Twenty-six – Of ever letting me go

He had a nice back, she thought with appreciation, it was ample and his muscles rippled under his dotted skin when he moved, pretending he wasn’t aware of her presence watching him meal prep for the entire family for the next day. She also pretended that he didn’t know what he was doing, walking around only in his pyjama pants, with all his scars on display.

In those first nights after they decided to give it a real chance, spent and happier than she could ever remembered being before, she had laid across him on the bed, head pillowed on his lower back, tracing the scars she just told him were considered sexy instead in Tamaran.

“Oh yeah?,” he would answer, just barely awake, moving only to give her one tired dimpled smirk before mumble-complaining that she was too far away but falling asleep before she was completely positioned beside him.

“How can I help you, lover?” he asked without turning his head to her.

She made a show of sighing heavily.

“In so many ways…”

And then he clicked shut the last plastic container, and waltzed to put it all in their fridge, turning around and leaning on the appliance to face her. His hair was getting even longer, and it was adorable the way it fell on his eyes when it was loose like that, it made him look younger, and not for the first time, Kory wished, somehow, they had met before.

“I’ll help better if you give me examples.”

“Hmmm,” she made, walking towards him with purpose, but everything she did was to hook one finger, just one, of the rubber band of his trousers. “Sometimes I wish you were Tamaranean, and I could just make you see what I have in mind.”

He framed her face with his hands, and Kory’s eyes fluttered shut, he was so tender and so passionate at the same time. She had been tense all day worrying about Rachel’s new friends that she didn’t like; and the calling she had been hearing from the stars. Worried about Gar and how quiet he would get as if he was hiding inside himself; worried about Donna doing X’hal knows what with Dawn in France; worried about the man holding her because nothing that good could last… And then he touched her and poured his love over her, and suddenly… No one was in danger, everything was fine and what wasn’t yet, would be just after a kiss. The calling from far away fell silenced by his presence, and the worries withered under the heat of their passion.

“Something tells me I don’t need to be Tamaranean to have an idea…”

She opened her eyes to face his, they were so dark in that demi-light, so deep and comforting, she wished she could curl inside his gaze and live there forever.

When he was there, and she was with him, everything felt simple. No more complicated than the few moves necessary to make him want to devour her on the kitchen table.

Kory smirked.

“What if what I have in mind is making love in the sky?”

READ ON AO3

He chuckled and spread butterfly kisses on her nose, eyes and forehead.

“I’ve told you, lover, I’m not risking being seeing butt literally turned to the moon by Uncle Clark or God forbid, Diana...”

A bubble of laughter, or maybe just excitement, or even, maybe, just love, started to multiply in her stomach turning into an amalgamation of giddy bubbles, while she continued to tease him, biting her lips to contain her joy that only grew as she was aware of his gaze on her mouth. Kory’s free hand was barely avoiding his skin, as she thread between his arm and his torso, flatting her palm against the fridge, pretending she was about to press him against it, but not quite, her toes wiggling to rub against his. Her finger played with his waistband a little roughly, and Kory heard with satisfaction Dick suck a breath between his smile.

“Why would they be looking?” She probed, it was a silly joke between them. But to be fair, the first time she offered, he actually looked like he was considering.

“I prefer not to risk,” he said in an overdramatic solemn tone, his body flexing and relaxing, it wouldn’t take long for his control snap.

Kory sighed, finally letting her body rest against his, head falling on her curve of his neck where she took a good sniff, it should be illegal for a man to smell that good. Her mouth was watering. She wanted him everywhere, she wanted him. How long had she pretended she didn’t, or that she couldn’t? How had she managed to do it twice through the course of two lives? Was she crazy?

“You are so boring,” she managed to say in just a wisp of voice.

And then powerful hands were lifting her by her thighs and soon enough she was looking down to him from above, her damp core, naked under her silk nightgown rubbing against his chest, her hair falling around them like a veil.

“Me? Boring? I’m going to show you how boring I am.”

*

*Princess Koriand’r shook as the memories assaulted her and zorkaberry wine painted the table purple. It had been so fast. Had she seen a ghost? Was it really him? How could it be him?

All Kory for that night had been to return to her old self, her original self. Was to be able to put her best Princess Act on display for the night, to prove to herself that she was strong enough to keep doing that for the rest of her life. And she had managed to do just that for the best part of the night, but then…

Nobody other than Karras seemed to notice she her mind and soul was elsewhere since Xoyan’g delegation entered the Palace. A great entrance unspoiled by the little commotion over a soldier that have “had a little too much” been taken to the herbarium.

Maybe it had been the lights, maybe it was all she had been through, maybe it was the wine or even her own conscience making her see things that wasn’t there, still, when Karras took her to dance, her legs were made of lead, and he had to simulate her flight for the both of them. And she could see on his face that he was getting exhausted of covering up for her, and that one day one humiliation would be too many. Kory wouldn’t dare to lift her eyes to him, ashamed, and afraid, he was her only friend now, if he let her go…

“What a beautiful night, my dears,” said Lady Poannlis, the woman who raised Karras, taking Kory’s and her bumgorf’s hands together and putting her own old wrinkled hand over theirs when the song ended, even that wasn’t enough to take Kory out of her stupor “but…” The old lady let out a melancholic sigh, “maybe it’s because of the war and the hard times we’ve been through, but…”

“Say, my lady K’norfka,” urged Karras, full of genuine interest and care for the opinions of the old woman. She was small for Tamaranean standards and had a large face, her skin as lighter than Kory’s, but did not have the copper hue of Karras. Lady Poannlis was from one of the smaller noble families, it was unusual to a Prince like Karras have such a simple woman as his primary caregiver, but not being from the main sovereign family of Tamaran, gave him choices Kory had never had before she flew to her mission on Earth. Choices of genuine connection. Kory’s K’norfka, Lady General Zadira was never a source of comfort, just another person to whom Kory was desperate to make proud.

“I’m just a silly woman that lived too long, but I noticed Princess… You didn’t glow, not once, that is not a good sign.”

Anger made Kory snap, and she pulled off her hand as if Karras’ and Poannlis’ hands burned her skin.

“Yes, maybe it’s not any of your business.”

For the first time, Karras’ look made Kory shake, and she wanted to take her words back instantly, but that too would show weakness, Queens couldn’t afford that.

“Koriand’r! Please excuse the Princess, my la-”

“I’m tired,” announced Kory forcedly talking over him, “my love, I’ll retire now. Pleasant shlorvaxs.”

“And you won’t even join for the n-“ the old woman tried to keep her protest. In truth, Kory had nothing against her personally, but the guilt and betrayal heart, and that soldier… She needed to leave. She needed to run up to her tower and hug her baby fast, and enjoy the small moment she still have with the only prove she had once chose love, before she had to let it go forever.

“Pleasant shlorvaxs,” Lady Poannlis said in a small voice, submitting, but that didn’t make Kory feel better, instead, she tried to hide her shame under Karra’s bitter gaze. She had no right of treating him like that, or disrespecting his K’norfka, he had been nothing but a good friend and asked nothing that wasn’t his right since they agreed to wed.

But…

The image of that Stranger entering the Palagar Palace, covered in Tamaranean garments, surrounded by Tamaranean warriors flashed through her eyes, mixing with the day he had fallen through a rip in reality, mixed with the colourful lights of that old arcade.

As Kory walked away, she could still hear the wisps of conversation.

“She has been through a lot, Knof’ka.”

“We all have, my Prince.”

“Give her time…”

The kindness of his words didn’t help a bit, she covered her ears knowing it wouldn’t do any good, she tried to fly to her tower, but flying still remained impossible. She was seeing things, the man in the crowd was not him. How could be him? He was stars and stars away. And if he wasn’t there… X’hal even the idea of him trying to get to her drove her completely out of her depths, where were her daughter going to go? The terrifying idea of her daughter not having a way to flee and a safe family to belong to shook her to her core and made her feel like a encaged animal.

Her feet took her to the herbarium, and it was like a play of her past, only the setting was wrong.

It… It was him.

Her heart hammered trying to break through her ribcage as she approached the bed. His eyes trembled beneath his eyelids and Kory took one hand to her mouth when they opened.

The scar was there, the same that she had covered with kisses, that would turn white while his face flushed when they fought, trained, of when she was pulling him beyond the edge of pleasure. The beauty marks under his eyes were in the same position she had memorized. It was him. This was not another Stranger.

“Tejan’g!” His voice crying out in Tamaranean startled her. “Kaijus!”

She ran to his bed then, grabbing him by his armour, his Tamaranen armour, how? Why?

“How did you get here?” Kory heard herself asking, quite out of control, angry. At him? At herself? X’hal, this was unnatural. A Tamaranean so uncertain of her own feelings was surely doomed.

Whiskey coloured eyes stared her as if they were seeing her for the first time.

“Koriand’r...” Hearing that voice say her name was too much, she felt like she was about to explode.

“Answer me! Are you even really-”

He frowned, he too was confused, she could understand that at least. Hot tears started to run down her face, turning the elaborate ceremonial makeup painted on her face into a surrealist mess.

“I don’t know!” He roared back, his hand was covering hers now, trying to push her away, and for a reason she knew was totally unfair, she felt betrayed, rejected again.

“Are you even really-” she tried, her voice breaking.

All fragility he showed till that moment left, and he sat up, making her step back.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” He protested loudly, and added in a softer tone, “not again!”

They stared at each other. The idea that he was really there starting to permeate her brain. She had so many questions, but there was a desert in her throat, so she just stood there as he climbed of the bed. He looked over her shoulder. Kory wanted to touch him, to get empirical proof that he was real, that this wasn’t another dream or mirage. X’hal, their daughter had the same eyebrows, maybe the same chin.

X’hal… He didn’t know about her… What would he say?

His gaze changed, this time, he didn’t look as angry, but deeply hurt. Kory bit her trembling lip.

“What I don’t understand,” he continued, “is why…”

As the silence spread against them like the distance between galaxies broken only when Kory let out a shaky sob.

“Dick,” she pleaded, his name dropping from her tong in sweet but deeply pained tone “this is my planet, my people-“

“I know,” he said, breaking her string of excuses. “And I understand that part. I truly do. What I cannot understand you left the way you did? You just left,” that last sentence sounded a little more urgent, his frown deepening, he stepped forward, and this time, she didn’t move. Even moved by hurt and frustration, even when clearly there wasn’t any kind feeling remaining in his heart for her, she was so afraid he would just disappear, and she would take whatever little time she still had with him. “Do you even know what you did by just leaving? To the kids? To me?”

The need to touch him was becoming unbearable, so much that she grasped the sides of her skirts.

“I wanted to protect you, all of you, I didn’t know what I would find when I got here.”

Every word she said sounded more and more wrong.

“You could have trusted us!”

She took her hands to her own mouth, hating the tears that made him look distorted when he was just in front of her, a miracle she never though would be possible. She must really be the most loved or the most hated of X’hal’s daughters. All the chances she got, she wasn’t sure were to her benefit or torture.

“Please don’t shout, the guards-”

His eyes widened and his chest heaved.

“Let them lock me up, let them punish me, god knows I deserve to be punished because I still…”

Heart trying to escape through her mouth, she finally gave in and reached for him.

“You what? Tell me, Dick, you still what?”

It couldn’t be, not after everything she put him through.

He held her hands in mid-air, his large hands, shaky like hers, warm but not feverish like Tamaranean skin, bumpy and human and his… And then he did something that made her feet that just moments ago were glued to the ground, became feather light, he kissed her hands, her palms, her fingers... X’hal… X’hal…

“Koriand’r,” his voice was sweet then, he was crying too, “we were happy, weren’t we? It can’t be all a lie.”

“Of course,” she whispered, “of course we were.”

“Then why?”

But before she could even start to thread her thoughts in a line that made sense, a whoosh of cold air entered the heated herbarium.

“My lady?”

Kory turned in her own axis, startled at the intromission of Karras standing by the door.

---------------

Nobody, not even myself expected to be back so fast lmao. But I got some rare free time and my mind is stable enough so… You get a chapter!

Oh I was so excited to write this last scene!!! It’s crazy to think I started to make up this story such a long time ago and now I get to write the bits I planned then. Thank you everyone who’s still reading, and thank you everyone that read in in beginning and dropped off, I hope one day you will come back and tell me what you felt reading the rest of the story. We have around 6 or 7 chapter to go yet, maybe less, maybe more, but we are reaching a closure.

I hope nobody is getting confused by the “tamaranean terms”, I’m using a lot from the cartoon, the NTT and a lot is, honestly, madeup XD

Love you all, and see you next time.

[limpfisted]

wyll and romance! (spoilers for: wylls romance! its VERY cute. i recommend spoiling urself for it tho unless u plan a whole wyll specific playthru bc there r. very few scenes lol. like less than 30 minutes total.)

so i did not get this on my playthrough bc i felt weird to try to “persuade” wyll to kiss astarion on that save, but the fact that if u do, the next day he has a specific exclusive dialogue where this grown ass man says “my cheeks feel warm. am i blushing? i must be blushing.” with like the giddiness of the debutante ballerina he is, tells me that.

wyll loves when other people make the moves on him n are the “initiator.” he also doesn’t disapprove when ur slightly mean/overtly rude or call him a devil in his romance scenes, which means that, he has a good sense of humor, he likes em mean, or soft, as long as they’re giving him attention n he gets to see them smile and feel joy around him.

i feel that wyll has spent the great majority of his life alone exploring the world. some days mizora was his sole company, n only then thru his seeing eye, n thats not company he cares to keep despite his great yearning for the power she gives him. his experience romancing mostly comes from his teenage years—and while he has stoked his fires at a tavern or two or with a grateful survivor of misfortune, there’s a lot of time spent alone, thinking, playing pretend in his head, fantasizing. not always about romance, mind u—he’s not THAT much of a schoolgirl, n there were powers to master and training to be done even on his own. but under the stars—sometimes he dreamed of the ballrooms, even tho he danced alone.

i think he imagined a great love like the player character would come along. i imagine a part of him wished to be saved, and loved, despite or because of mizora. he’s not used to tender care, used to playing the charming hero, never being protected himself

when he is expressly sought after he gets embarrassed and extra romantic. he swoons when seduced. he can dish it out—see: his banter with SH and lae—but he can barely take “being taken care of”—especially when it’s so genuine, and he’s hurting so deeply, n his passions are stoked by a devil’s cinders…. n by a disgust with himself that only feels fixed, really, when they let him know his body and presence still make them feel “safe.” that he’s not an abomination or a monster—they’re still interested, they still care, he’s worth loving, or maybe, in wyll’s eyes, still turning their gaze upon, a summer setting sun.

he appreciates you so, so much. but also it’s a sistraction from the way his body n mind have changed. one he welcomes. one he craves, but can look upon with wonder instead of guilt. u save him from himself and his wallowing. u let him be a simple, ordinary fairy tale, even tho a devil cannot be a prince. that’s all he wants. maybe some u know, forbidden tomes n noble delights n excess as well, but mostly just a fairy tale. he promises!!!

in addition, and this is random, but i think wyll would be so good to be in a relationship with if u have mental illness. he doesn’t understand some things—like gale’s sacrifice—but he is so kind to dark urge. he knows you are not your intrusive thoughts, u just need help, and u can fight or overcome any feelings or thoughts that would harm u, n he thinks ur so brave for it, n he trusts u completely, like he hopes u trust him. hes no stranger to depression n self loathing n a lust for darkness after all, wyll sold his soul for the stuff, even if it was for all the right reasons tho i maintain the details r sketchy as hell.

if this all seems overly poetic its bc im practicing wyll’s voice here, a mini sample of what shipping would be like, LOL.

and this is with only two romantic scenes. then sixty hours later he proposes marriage with a magic acorn so full of love u can feel its magic warmth beneath the shell. i would love to see romances with player characters (companions included if they are “the player character) where we flesh that shit out! lmao

[unovanhunny]

Oh in the frozen au would Volo use the fact that Emmet has no idea who his penpal is to pretend to be said person? Taking advantage of the connection Emmet has towards a person he doesn't know is his brother to foster the beginnings of love in order to take things over?

And of course Ingo calls bs because HES Emmets pen pal, but he struggles to actually explain that.

Man it's like you Anons are mind readers sometimes!

After, quite literally, running into each other, they introduce themselves and Volo immediately starts acting overly familiar and like he knows who Emmet is (he's done his research). Emmet doesn't know that's weird because he's spent the earlier part of the day meeting people and being exactly the same. He's been so lonely and longing for companionship. And then Volo says something that was word for word something in the letters and Emmet makes the assumption that Volo is his penpal. And then he asks about it and Volo, opportunistic as he is, says that he is, in fact, Emmet's penpal.

Sure, he may not remember some things that Emmet Knows he told him, but that's fine! It's been many years and many letters, he's just so happy to find the person he was in love with for so long here in his kingdom. He's completely okay with overlooking anything suspicious. His love for his penpal was what kept him going through his loneliness and kept him distracted from the ache of loving someone who never even wanted to see him again.

And when they talk to Ingo, already speaking about marriage, because unlike in the movie this isn't just a stranger he met that day, its the person he's been trading letters with for years! The love there is genuine and not spur of the moment. Ingo can't say anything. As much as he wishes he could explain to Emmet that he's wrong, he can't. Ingo has avoided Emmet for all that time because facing his own feelings makes his powers go crazy. And now he's dealing with jealousy and anger and fear because That man is Lying to you, don't trust him. No I can't tell you why and how I know.

Emmet thinks Ingo is being petty, there's no way he can know the reasons why Ingo completely shuts down the idea of marriage and then storms off. But it does make him spiteful, and with a suggestion from Volo, he ends up doing something he would deeply regret when everything comes to light.

[soobnny]

YEAR ENDER EVENT VIBES🗣💢🗣💢 with my babyboy twitchrivals!hoon <3 as for a description of myself, i’d like to say i’m ambiverted? i talk ALOT (a little too much at times) and love to have conversations with people i am close to. i have the shortest social battery known to man, but i’m very good at pretending like i’m extroverted with strangers. i’m always feeling some type of anxiety? worrier at heart thanks to my mom 🥹 i love to read… fanfiction & watch people play video games (probably enjoy it more than actually playing). i come off as very confident and usually control the mood of a social interaction because i like to make people enjoy their time around me. at my core though, i prefer solitude and would love to stay in my room everyday.

(this is a super cute event, and i wanna thank you for all the effort it takes to put out such great stories! i’m not lying when i say that twitch rivals is my favorite smau of all time. i remember waking up and the newest chapter being released was the first thought that entered my mind. i recommend it to everyone that comes to me for fanfic recs.🫶)

year ender event

streaming together !! if u play games, he will pocket sage for u. if someone instalocks the agent/character that u play, best believe he’s reporting that player’s ass 😭😭 he is petty for U only

if u don’t feel like playing games, he tries to introduce u to a bunch that he loves becos he is streamer!hoon and he wants u to like such a big part of his life and career so this meansssss u guesting in his streams! his fans love u let’s be real ☹️ thinks ure so cute together. he’d give u the controller and make u play if u want to and he completes the hard parts for u when u get a little annoyed. (oh and here’s a little secret .. he loves when u sit on his lap or play with his hair while he’s playing). sometimes he just appreciates u being there to watch him when he’s playing !! his heart goes 4838 km/hr

he ends streaming hours early so he can spend time with u. a lot of ur time together is spent just talking and staying indoors — he thinks that’s his favorite part of the day. ending stream and just having time to be with u in his room.

i think you’d probably be closest to jake just cos he’s tr!sunghoon’s closest friend too and he’s so considerate of the both of u it’s actually kind of cute. like one time, he was doing a paid sponsorship where he could invite streamers to disneyland — chose u and sunghoon immediately without a doubt + and ofc riki jay and sunoo. oh! and sometimes riki and sunoo invites u to play animal crossing with them. they just love U i think esp like those two will have THE softest spot for u

100T loves having u around in their content creator house. when they’re shooting videos, they always ask sunghoon if you wanna join in on the challenges. i think the streamers of 100T and the staff n everyone just enjoy ur presence like u said !! mood maker type of things hehehe so naturally, they’d love to have u around in shoots and videos. on the occasion that you do, they love having u on challenge type of videos (and everyone notices that sunghoon always keeps an eye on u whether or not ure on the same team or not. he wants to make sure ure comfortable).

when sunghoon notices ure kind of just tired now and need some time to urself, he purposely loses the challenge or asks if the pair of u can be pulled out a little earlier. always just puts ur wellbeing first honestly it’s so sickeningly sweet. u don’t need to pretend with sunghoon cos he just knows!

while under the spotlight becos of being a popular streamer, sunghoon would actually want nothing more than to spend time with u in ur room and just be around each other. he doesn’t matter if ure doing nothing together or watching a movie. he just likes being around u.

bonus: tr!sunghoom strikes me as the type to buy u expensive gifts. he goes out for a shoot and sees something u might like? swipe! he’s on a shopping challenge? buys things for u instead. i just think he loves pampering u honestly and so he rly likes using his money on u even tho u scold him for it. but no one can stop a man in love !!

happy holidays! thank U for taking the time out to say that and for just being so nice. What ☹️ and i’m so honored that twitch rivals is high on ur list of smaus! it was such a fun time for me and i’m just so happy to see u rly enjoyed it :”) i hope u enjoy this one too! let me know what u think HEHE

[midnightsunnyday]

I agree. I think one of the more interesting aspects of the game is that these characters aren't entirely what they seem. How an angel isn't necessarily good natured or a demon necessarily bad natured. I'm not a theology expert either, but I have read a bit about the nature of angels and demons, and I know that in some cases, angels aren't necessarily "good" by human standards. They are shown helping humans in the sense of leading them upon the right path or providing wisdom, protection, etc. but they are mostly there to enact the will of God, whatever that may be, and if a few or a lot of humans die, then that's just how it goes, I guess.

I also know that demons aren't necessarily "evil" either. Some cultures describe their demons as purely chaotic evil, yet there are other interpretations where demons are actually benevolent in the sense that they will help humans obtain their desires or are even amicable towards them. It's all rather interesting, really.

And I guess in Obey Me! we do see those contradictions within their actions or behaviors, and I love that the writers, whether intentionally or not, attempt to show that.

Now, I think it's important for me to state what I personally mean by "demons being demons." This is really long, but I feel I must stress this point since people love to misinterpret things online.

It is of my opinion that if one is to create a world with non-human characters, then it's expected that those characters will behave in a way outside our normal or respectable human standards.

And yeah, sometimes those standards do include "squicky" themes or things that make us uncomfortable, and I'm not going to sit here and pretend that they don't just so some random stranger on the Internet can feel comfortable or superior in their morality over me. At the end of the day, I'm an adult. Meaning that I've spent enough years on this earth to know my principles, morals, and values completely. And a lot of what y'all complain about online with these fictional characters is something I rarely care about and will never equate to the violence and harm enacted against real living, breathing people.

And, stressing further, this doesn't mean you or anyone else can't find it uncomfortable or dislike it. But while a lot of people don't like hearing this, it's something that always stood true for me: in an online space, if you're someone past the age of 18, then it's your responsibility to curate your own online experiences. My feeds and socials are throughly curated. Some things do slip through the cracks, but I block, reorganize my tags, and move on. That is the extent of my crises with what other people write and ship. Despite me finding it gross and uncomfortable myself, I'm not sure what else to do about it, nor can I keep people from writing it.

Despite the above, I then further go on to say that no, "demons being demons" doesn't mean making every character a justifiable horrible piece of shit. As you and I have stated, these characters are more than that, and I think that makes for good media in general. There are characters whose entire purpose is to act as the hate sink and have no redeemable qualities, but those characters tend to be boring and juvenile, and having an entire cast of them would just make for a bad experience. Making a story and its characters darker doesn't necessarily mean it'll be good, and if executed poorly, can be just as shallow, distasteful, and downright offensive.

Right now, Obey Me! needs that balance, and it's been sticking to mostly one side, for obvious but unfortunate reasons. I do get it's an otome, but there are other games within the same genre that handle characters and topics with darker themes yet still find a way to balance it with the romance. It doesn't have to be either or, and I think the writers should take further risks with their story regardless of the fandom, and I really hope Obey Me! Nightbringer does so.

So, I've been thinking over this, and I'm really not trying to come across as rude or offend anyone with my take, but...

What exactly does this fandom want from this game and its characters?

Do y'all want a game featuring good, uncomplicated human men who live by good, uncomplicated human standards and never do anything wrong but with tails, horns, and wings?

Or do y'all want a game about the literal lords of hell and whatever that may entail?

Because I can't be the only one who finds it ironic that the characters who act the most like demons are widely disliked, while the characters who act less like demons are widely liked, right? In a game about dating demons, being demonic or showing any kind of character flaw isn't attractive, and those of us who actually do enjoy the darker themes, when we do get them, are treated as having somehow failed morally for liking it. It makes no sense to me.

And this is in spite of so many posts from this fandom stating how they want their "demons to be demons." That they want complex and interesting characters. That they want to feel like they're in a realm surrounded by devils and engage with all the hostilities and angst and drama and blood that comes along with that, yet in the same breath, can't even handle characters like Lucifer, Belphegor, Asmodeus, Solomon, Simeon, and Diavolo. Characters who aren't exactly nice or fully transparent about their goals or actions. Characters who are a little or a lot fucked up. Characters who are gray at worse, but ultimately, show they are capable of being more. Even if poorly executed by the writers, they tried to show us, to some extent, exactly what we've been asking for. Now we rarely get events or chapters where the brothers so much as even swat a fly, and I can't help but blame that on the knee jerk reaction of the fandom to scream about anything less than flattering.

Which is why I can't help but wonder if Obey Me! Nightbringer does happen to touch on darker themes and characterization, than I can only imagine how well the fandom will handle any of it (my guess is poorly).

Feel free to leave a comment. As I'd really like to have some more opinions on this.

[gloomiebearwritings]

I have a request of a fake relationship with Johnny, Milena, and Rain during s/o's week long family reunion and they start to actually develop feelings for s/o?

Sorry, this took a bit to get done, Anon! My art took my pain tolerance from under my feet, and I couldn't focus 😭

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Johnny

You were a good friend of his, so he didn’t hesitate to fill in for the s/o role you needed to feel less out of place at the family reunion 

It was all in good fun until he realized he’d have to keep up the act for a whole week, but he refused to back out and leave you alone

He filled the role of the goofy boyfriend perfectly, charming the whole family and bringing you plenty of smiles

Though one night he laid there in bed with you, your peaceful sleepy head resting on his shoulder making him question just how he really felt. A part of him started making itself known as he ran through all the excuses he could to avoid facing the fact- that being that he felt completely at home like this, being your boyfriend and being so close to you. After making sure you were completely asleep he carefully pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before finally going to sleep.

After it was all said and done, and you were both heading back to your usual lives he approached you with a request for a moment alone. While alone he bit the bullet and admitted that the week you two spent together really made him realize not only how much he treasured you, but that he had come to realize that you meant more to him than just a friend- but someone he felt truly at home with.

Mileena

She was bored out of her mind, so to have something to do piqued her interest- even if going with someone to their family reunion was a tad strange to her

It was even stranger when you said you two had to pretend to be together, though she played along, finding it fun to see you get flustered when she’d hang off of you

For her it was just fun to poke and tease at you the whole week, jokingly telling you that if you had feelings, you could’ve just told her sooner

She seemed completely unbothered by the whole thing, appearing to just be enjoying the food and company- though sometimes it was clear something was weighing on her mind. At first she assumed it was concern for how long this reunion was dragging on, and tried to push it aside until she felt her heart beat faster when you leaned against her during some alone time outside. She never thought she could see you this way, and yet she didn’t even try to stop the situation, the feeling of you against her being comforting almost. 

However, it was still only after the two of you went back to your normal lives after she finally began to crack, pulling you aside from the small crowd to speak with you. With a softness unheard of by you she quietly told you that she’d much prefer to “keep up the act” at all future reunions, because she’d come to genuinely love you.

Rain

You were someone he trusted already, so when you came to him for some company he didn’t object, even if the concept was a tad new to him

He figured it’d be a short reunion, a day or so perhaps, so his eyebrows went up when you told him it’d last a week

The role of the doting lover was filled perfectly by him, your family loving just how much he cared for you, and sometimes saying it’d be sad if you two ever parted

Those comments rang around in his head on a restless night, unable to think of anything else besides the way your family seemed so thrilled to see you with him. It made him really think about how deeply he trusted you, and treasured your time together- in the past saying it was just because you were attentive, but now he began to question the validity of that. The more he thought about it the more it set in that you meant more to him than anything, even if he’d try to hide it in the coming days.

Once the two of you had returned from the week-long trip he pulled you aside, telling you there was something important you needed to know. And with an incredibly gentle tone, he admitted that the trip made him see things differently- that he actually did love you for real.

[fics-n-stuff]

A Nice Christmas

Thanks to @gayhistorynerd for the prompt, see here (I kind of deviated from it a little maybe a lot but the story still stemmed from this prompt)

Pairing: Wilhelm × Simon

Summary: Wilhelm may have denied being in the sex tape, but that doesn't mean that the world has forgotten. The Christmas break proves to be difficult for both Simon and Wilhelm, one suffering from ongoing harassment and the other feeling completely isolated, and they find that they can't help but be drawn back to each other.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: This took me so long to write because I got writer's block right after I started it. This doesn't have a super happy ending because I wanted to try and keep it pretty realistic, but it is pretty sweet and wholesome.

Taglist: @probablyprocrastinatingrightnow @rika90 @angelwilhelm

Wilhelm had never felt more alone than he did being home for Christmas break. He spent as much time as was physically possible holed up in his bedroom, not wanting to see or talk to anyone, especially not his mother. He hadn’t turned his phone on for three days, he had bitten his nails down to the nailbeds and he hardly had any appetite. The ache in his chest was constant and unyielding.

He lay in the dark most of the time, his curtains closed throughout the day and only sometimes opened at night to let the moonlight in. Besides that, he didn’t have much idea of how time was passing.

He did know that it was Christmas eve though. And it must be the morning because nobody had come to drag him out of his bedroom to join the celebrations. A cursory peek around the curtain confirmed that, as Wilhelm saw that the sun hadn’t even fully risen yet.

A deep breath settled the stone in his stomach, and he reached for his phone with a shaky hand.

When the device turned on it immediately started going crazy with notifications, and Wilhelm felt his heart rate increase with every buzz.

5 messages from August

Ignore.

10 messages from Mamma

Ignore.

2 missed calls from Felice

Wilhelm paused in swiping away the notifications. Felice had called him twice and sent him three messages. He clicked on the message notification, sitting back against the wall and holding in a breath without realising it.

Felice: Hey Wille, how are you feeling being home?

Felice: I just wanted to check in but I can’t get a hold of you, I hope you’re doing alright

Felice: You probably don’t want to talk but you can call or text me whenever you do

Wilhelm sighed. Of all the people that he thought that he could depend on, Felice was the only one that he still had. He swallowed the lump in his throat and called her back.

It rang for a while before she answered, and he’d almost decided to hang up the call when it stopped ringing.

“Wille, good morning.” Felice greeted, cheerful but clearly tired. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, merry Christmas Felice.” Wilhelm replied feebly. His voice was hoarse from disuse.

“Are you alright? Do you want to talk about something?”

“Uhm, I- I don’t know, I just... I don’t know.” He stuttered, wrapping his free arm around himself.

“Okay, well, what are your plans for today?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t really been talking to anyone. What, uh, what are your plans?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual. We’ll watch Kalle Anka's Jul and play some games before dinner, then we’ll open presents.” She explained. The tinny sound of her voice through the phone was actually quite calming.

“What about for the rest of the break?”

“Um, I’m going to New York to see Maddie for New Year, so that’ll be fun. And I’m going back to Bjärstad on Boxing Day to see Sara. I’m gonna stay there just for one night.”

“So you’ve been talking to Sara a lot then?” Wilhelm questioned, moving to bite at his almost non-existent nails.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Has she said anything about Simon? Do you know if he’s alright?” His words came out more rushed than he had intended. Clearly, he was more eager for some sort of information on Simon than he had thought.

“Um, she hasn’t said much but I think he’s pretty okay.” Felice replied, but it was followed by a small sigh that let Wilhelm know that there was more to the story. “Sara says that things have mostly gone back to normal, but Simon goes out a lot less and she’s had to make her Instagram private. I think they’ve had a few people show up at their house.”

Wilhelm swallowed hard, a feeling of guilt crawling under his skin. Simon’s Instagram account had been private ever since the video had been leaked, so it seemed that now people had found Sara’s too. They had attention on them that they had never signed up for, and Wilhelm knew that it was his fault and he felt terrible for that.

“Okay.” He replied shakily. There was a short silence before Felice spoke again.

“How are you, Wilhelm? Really?” She asked.

“Lonely.” He answered. “Listen, I have to go. I need to take a shower before someone comes demanding that I take part in the Christmas celebrations.”

“Alright well, call me back whenever, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Bye, Felice.”

“Bye, Wille. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Wilhelm ran a hand over his face, letting out a groan of frustration and sadness. Why couldn’t he just be a normal kid?

He stared down at his phone in his lap, gnawing at the nail of his right thumb in contemplation. With a shaking breath and trembling fingers, he picked it back up, opened his conversation with Simon and typed a short message. He dropped his phone in mild panic as soon as he hit send, and rubbed his hand over his chest as he took a deep, steadying breath.

+ + +

“Simon, wake up. Rosh and Ayub will be here soon.” Sara’s voice stirred Simon from his sleep and he rolled over to look at her. She was already dressed.

“What time is it?” He asked with a yawn.

“Nine o’clock. Get up and come help with breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting up.”

Sara rolled her eyes and left the room, and Simon reached out to his bedside table blindly until his hand landed on his phone. He squinted at the screen as he sat up, faltering when he saw the notification on the screen.

Wilhelm: Merry Christmas Simon

He felt his heart race as he stared at the screen, only snapping out of it when he heard Sara shouting at him from downstairs. He blinked, dropped his phone and set about getting dressed.

Every Christmas eve since they were ten, Simon, Sara, Rosh and Ayub would have breakfast together and then go for a long walk. It was tradition for them at this point, but Simon found himself unable to feel excited for it this year. It was all well and good to pretend like life was going on as normal, but it was hard not to feel uncomfortable when people stared at him everywhere he went.

Rosh and Ayub arrived just as he and Sara were finishing up making breakfast, and they exchanged Christmas well-wishes as they sat down to eat.

“You’re being real quiet over there, Simme. You alright?” Ayub asked after a while, and Simon realised that he’d been completely zoned out.

“Sorry, just thinking.”

“About Wilhelm?” Sara questioned. Simon pushed a bite of food into his mouth and shrugged.

“You have to move on, Simon.” Rosh said. “I know you care about him but he’s not worth all the trouble that he comes with.”

“I know. That’s why I ended things.” He replied. “It still sucks though.”

“You’ll get over him eventually.” Sara told him, putting a comforting hand on his for a few seconds before going back to her food. Simon smiled slightly.

He didn’t tell them about the text.

Despite all of that, he was in high spirits when they set out for their walk, happily joking and laughing with his friends, and they made it half an hour before he heard the first comment.

“That’s the guy from the sex tape.” Muttered a girl to her friend as they passed, and Simon felt the smile fall from his face.

“Just ignore them.” Sara told him, wrapping an arm around one of his. He nodded, but it had gotten to him. For the rest of their walk from that point, Simon felt like every person that they passed was looking at him and judging him.

They walked both Rosh and Ayub back to their houses before heading back to theirs just a bit past noon. They had almost gotten home when they were approached by a group of teenagers probably slightly younger than them.

“Are you the guy from that viral sex tape?” One of the boys asked unabashedly, the group coming right up in front of Simon and Sara and blocking their path.

“Uh, I don’t want to talk about that.” Simon replied stiffly, still trying to be polite.

“Oh my god, it is him!” A girl exclaimed.

“Was it actually the crown prince in the video?” Another chimed. Simon felt lightheaded.

“He already said that it wasn’t.” He deflected, trying to sidestep the group.

“Yeah, but there’s a lot of people that don’t actually believe him.” The girl laughed; actually laughed, as if this hadn’t been an earth shattering event for Simon.

“If it wasn’t Prince Wilhelm then who was it in the video?” A boy asked, and that was when Simon spotted the phone filming him and his stomach dropped.

“I’m not discussing my sex life with a bunch of strangers.” He scoffed in disbelief, shouldering his way past the group with Sara close behind him. “Please leave me alone.”

“You could just tell us if it was actually the prince or not.” One of them pressed, the group now following after Simon. “If it wasn’t him then you don’t have anything to hide.”

“Oh my god, did the royal family pay you off? Did they make you sign an NDA!?”

“Were you, like, boyfriends? Or was it just a hookup?”

Simon kept walking, keeping his head down and not answering any of the questions being hurled at him. He could sense that Sara was just as tense beside him. The group followed them for a full block before Simon finally lost his cool and came to a dead stop, turning to face them.

“I’m not going to answer your questions. The fact that you’re following me is not going to make me answer your questions. I’ve had my privacy majorly invaded once already and now you’re invading it again. I’m trying to enjoy Christmas with my sister and you’re chasing me with a camera, I’m sick of people harassing me.” He fumed, making sure to meet the eye of every one of them at some point. “Whatever you choose to believe is not my problem. It doesn’t matter whether you think that the crown prince is telling the truth or you choose to make up some type of theory, I deserve my privacy.”

He didn’t wait for any type of response before he turned around and walked away, thankful to find that they weren’t going to follow him anymore.

“You handled that well.” Sara said quietly once they had turned the next corner. Simon didn’t reply.

When they got home, he went straight upstairs without a word. He slammed his bedroom door shut and buried his face in his pillow, unable to hold the tears back any longer.

By that same evening, the video was viral.

+ + +

I bet that girl was right and the royal family made him sign an NDA

If he didn’t want people to think it was the prince he would have just said that it wasn’t so either the prince was lying or this guy is seeking attention

He’s literally a kid why can’t people just leave him alone??

I don’t care if it was the prince in the tape or not, this guy is hot

The way he said that people are making up theories makes me think that it actually wasn’t the prince in the video

I feel bad for this guy, getting followed around like that must suck

Wilhelm scrolled through the captions and comments on the seemingly endless posts of the video of Simon, feeling like somebody had a vice grip on his heart.

The first time he saw the video had been right after Christmas Eve dinner. He’d had a full blown panic attack and locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour. When he came out, his mother had tried to talk to him about the politics of the situation and he had immediately retreated into his bedroom once again. He missed Erik desperately.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, he'd only gotten about three hours of broken, fitful sleep all night, and now he couldn’t pry himself away from his phone. He knew that it was bad for him, he knew that it was making him feel terrible, but he wanted to know what people were saying.

He had been hesitant to text Simon, especially since he hadn’t received a reply to the merry Christmas text that he had sent in the morning, but in the end he mustered the courage to reach out. He had asked how Simon was doing and apologised for getting him into this situation. He wasn’t surprised when no answer came.

Christmas day was proving to be probably the worst day of Christmas break for Wilhelm. His chest felt like it was bursting open and like it was an empty chasm at the same time. He didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, he didn’t respond to the knocks that came at his door. He felt like he was trapped in a glass box and someone was shaking it.

Wilhelm didn’t know how long he had been scrolling through multiple different social media platforms when his phone buzzed in his hand and an incoming call appeared on the screen. He faltered, sitting up and almost dropping his phone, when he saw that it was Simon. He ran a nervous hand through his hair as he raised the phone to his ear.

“Simon?” He croaked.

“Hi, Wilhelm.” The reply came through the phone, and Wilhelm felt his shoulders relax at the sound of Simon’s voice.

“Hi. H-how are you.” He fumbled, and Simon sighed on the other end.

“I’m okay, I guess. As okay as I can be after... well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry for putting you in this situation.”

“This wasn’t your fault, Wille.” Simon muttered. “I just wish things were different.”

“Why, um... why did you call?” Wilhelm asked. There was a short stretch of silence that rung in his ears before Simon answered.

“I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess.” He confessed, and Wilhelm couldn’t help the soft smile that pulled at his lips. “Honestly, I was kind of surprised that you didn’t delete my number or something.”

“Why would I have done that?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just thought that you weren’t supposed to have any ties with me since you said that it wasn’t you in the video.” Wilhelm winced at that.

“It's not like my contacts list is available to the public.” He replied, trying to keep his tone light. “I’m not gonna let that kind of thing get in my head again.”

“Is your mum mad?” Simon asked, and now it was Wilhelm’s turn to sigh.

“I’m not sure, I kind of shut myself in my room so that I wouldn’t have to deal with her.” He answered tiredly. “How is your family?”

“Uh, shaken. Sara’s off in her own world with her sketchbooks and mamá can’t go for more than an hour without checking on us both, but we’re handling it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

There was a silence again. Wilhelm ran his hand across his leg, back and forth in a soothing motion, not sure what he should say but not wanting the conversation to finish. In the end, Simon spoke first.

“Did you mean it, what you said before you left for the break?” He asked softly.

“Yeah, I did.” Wilhelm answered without hesitation. “I know it wasn’t a good time to say it, and you probably didn’t want to hear it, but I just had to say it out loud. At least once.”

Silence again. Wilhelm heard Simon sigh, and pursed his lips nervously.

“I miss you.” Simon said.

“I miss you too.” Wilhelm replied with a nervous yet relieved chuckle. “I miss you a lot.”

Another pause.

“Where do we go from here, Wille?” Simon whispered.

“I don’t know.” Wilhelm mumbled. “But I... I want to fix this. Or at least just try to fix it. You don’t deserve to be harassed like this, and it’s my fault and I feel terrible.”

“It’s not your fault.” Simon reassured with a sigh. “It was everything else. We still didn’t do anything wrong, and that includes you.”

“No, I did. I promised we would be in this together and I broke that promise.”

“I understand why you did it. And I’m not mad at you. Honestly, having thought about it, you probably made the best decision for my sake too. I mean, I’m getting harassed enough as it is already. I can’t imagine what it would be like if you had told the truth.”

“I’m still sorry anyway.” Wilhelm said softly, and Simon chuckled. “So, um, Felice told me she was visiting Bjärstad tomorrow.”

“Yeah, her and Sara have gotten close. It’s nice, you know, that Sara’s made friends. And Felice is cool.”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

There was silence again, and Wilhelm bit at his nails thinking that Simon was done with the conversation.

“Are you alright, Wille?” Simon asked after a while. “I know this is your first Christmas without Erik, and I guess things with your mum might be a little... well, I just hope you’re okay.”

Wilhelm swallowed. He could lie, pretend he was fine and wave away Simon’s concerns, but he knew the lie probably wouldn’t hold up. Or he could tell the truth and admit how painfully lonely he was, how much he hated being home because the palace felt empty without Erik and how much he longed to be with Simon with every fibre of his being.

“I’m coping.” He sighed, settling for a middle ground of vagueness. “It’s lonely here. The ceilings feel too high.”

“Have you had stuff to do?”

“No, not really. I haven’t really been in the mood for Christmas, but I guess none of us are particularly festive this year anyway.”

“Would you - I mean, if you would even be allowed to, but maybe if you could – would you want to come down here for a day?” Simon asked, and Wilhelm could just picture him fidgeting nervously as he stumbled over his words. The image brought a smile to his face.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He answered softly. “I’ll try and convince my parents.”

+ + +

Going to Simon’s house had been an absolute no go with his parents. “Just too risky” his mother had said. However, with enough persistence, he managed to wear them down to a compromise.

That was how he ended up in a car on his way back to Hillerska the day after Boxing Day. While Simon’s house had been absolutely off the table, it would be easy enough to get back to Hillerska without being seen. The only people who were there during the break were security and the people who came to take care of the horses.

He had been worried at first that the inconvenience of it would make Simon not want to bother, but when he texted to ask if it was okay he had been met with a quick agreement.

A security guard unlocked the door for him when they arrived, sworn to secrecy of course, and he headed up to his room to wait. He didn’t realise he was biting his nails until there was a knock at the door and he was knocked out of his anxious thoughts.

The door opened slowly, and Wilhelm felt like all of the air was knocked out of his body when he saw Simon step inside, dressed in his beloved purple hoodie under the coat that he took off and draped over the back of a chair that was within reach. The door clicked shut behind him, and silence hung in the air.

“Hey.” Simon greeted finally, and Wilhelm took a deep breath as if he was just remembering how to breathe at all.

“Hey.” He echoed. “How are you?”

“Better.” Simon nodded. “Did you get into a fight with your parents?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Wilhelm muttered. “It’s fine though.”

Simon crossed the room and took a seat beside Wilhelm on the edge of the bed, a good few inches of space between them. It felt like miles.

“You look tired.” Simon commented.

“I’ve been having a hard time sleeping.” Wilhelm replied weakly, eyes downcast, fidgeting with his hands. “I get that way sometimes. It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

He looked over to find Simon watching him, and he practically crumbled under his gaze. He took a very unsteady breath and shook his head.

“No, it sucks.” He mumbled. His hand drifted back up to his mouth and he gnawed on the nail of his thumb nervously.

“Wille, you’re bleeding.” Simon said, gently grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from his mouth. Wilhelm looked down at his thumb and saw a bit of blood pooling in the side of the nailbed, becoming aware of the taste of it on his tongue.

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

“How much have you been biting your nails?” Simon questioned, pulling Wilhelm’s hand towards him to get a look at them. Every nail was jagged and uneven, bitten down to stubs. The skin around them had been bitten at too.

“I don’t know, I do it without realising.” Wilhelm shrugged. “Probably a lot.” He resisted the urge to curl his fingers around Simon’s hand and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

“You shouldn’t have to bottle everything in, you’re destroying yourself.” Simon murmured.

“I don’t have anyone to talk to.” Wilhelm’s voice broke halfway through his sentence, a single tear managing to fight its way from his eye. “I used to be able to talk to Erik about at least some of it but now he’s gone and I don’t have anyone, and sometimes it feels like the ground is falling out from under me and I just don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t notice that he was hyperventilating until Simon pulled him into his arms. Wilhelm’s chest was tight, rising and falling rapidly against Simon’s body. Simon's arms were wrapped around him tightly, and Wilhelm was suddenly overwhelmed with how much he had been craving a hug as his hands grasped at the back of Simon’s hoodie and he hid his face in the crook of Simon’s neck.

Wilhelm had always been told not to cry. Ever since he was a child, whenever he began to cry he was told to stop. The seed had planted itself in him when he was very young, but the fear of letting himself cry didn’t truly grow until he once saw an article in a tabloid. He was barely eleven and he had fallen and hurt himself at an event. He had hardly cried, just a few tears and red cheeks, but the tabloid had had plenty to say about it. He hadn’t let himself properly cry since, except for when Erik died. Even then, he had waited until he was completely alone before he let his weakness show. But now, with Simon, he felt an overwhelming need to let his tears fall.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered into Simon’s shoulder. He could feel the tears coming out of his eyes but they weren’t falling down his face, instead absorbing into the fabric of Simon’s hoodie.

“It’s okay.” Simon soothed, a hand moving up to stroke over the Wilhelm’s hair.

“I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a prince.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted to feel normal. Just for once.” Wilhelm said through his tears. “You made me feel normal.”

Simon furrowed his eyebrows, sympathetic. He loosened his hold on Wilhelm and leaned back, sliding the hand that was on the back of Wilhelm’s head forward to rest against his cheek.

“You made me feel normal too.” He replied softly. “At school I was a social outcast because I’m not rich, and at home I have to take care of my mom and Sara. When I was with you, I didn’t feel like I had to take care of anyone or watch where I was stepping. Well, except that one night.” Wilhelm huffed a slight laugh at the comment, lifting a hand to wipe the tears off of his cheeks. “I’ve never seen you cry before.” Simon commented.

“I’m not supposed to.” Wilhelm replied with an awkward chuckle, his head tipping forward in embarrassment. Simon sighed through his nose and lightly touched his forehead to Wilhelm’s.

“You have to cry sometimes, Wille. Everyone cries.”

“I’m not supposed to be everyone.”

“Okay, but sometimes you need to stop worrying about what you’re supposed to be.” Simon told him. “I know you know that.”

Wilhelm took a deep breath. This close to Simon’s face, he could feel his breathing too. He wanted to kiss him, but he didn’t know if that would be okay. He nodded slightly, covering Simon’s hand on his cheek with his own.

“Yeah.” He breathed.

When Simon leaned forward and connected their lips Wilhelm responded automatically, though it took his brain a few seconds to catch up. Once his brain did catch up, his hand took hold of the back of Simon’s neck and pulled him impossibly closer, holding onto this moment like it was his last. Maybe it would be the last time he got to kiss Simon; he couldn’t know. He hoped it wouldn’t be.

“Thanks for coming to see me.” Simon said when they broke apart.

“Thanks for wanting to see me at all.” Wilhelm replied. “I really missed you.”

Simon hummed, a faint smile playing at his lips. He watched Wilhelm for a few moments before kicking off his shoes.

“Come here.” He said, shuffling over the bed towards the wall. Wilhelm followed suit and allowed himself to be guided down to a lying position, Simon’s chest against his back and arm around his waist. “You need to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day.” Wilhelm protested, weak as the protest may have been.

“People have naps all the time, and you know that you need it.” Simon said firmly, adjusting the pillow under his head with his free arm and finding Wilhelm's hand to hold in the other. “It doesn’t have to be for long, okay?”

“Okay.” Wilhelm nodded, feeling suddenly very relaxed. He took a deep breath settling into the comfort and warmth of Simon’s body around his as his eyes fell shut. “This is nice.” He mumbled after a while.

“Yeah.” Simon agreed softly. “Go to sleep, Wille.”

It wasn’t long until he felt Wilhelm’s breathing change, signifying that he had fallen asleep. He smiled, fondly but with an edge of sadness to it, and pressed a light kiss to Wilhelm’s shoulder before closing his own eyes. They would deal with the rest of the world when they woke up.

[sxdmoonchxld]

Operation: Pop The Cherry | JJK

Jungkook x Virgin!Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: rough bathroom sex, college au, unprotected sex, teasing, fingering, Jungkook has a virgin kink if you couldn’t tell by he title, lowkey sadistic JK, Gay BFF Jimin, mentions of alcohol and weed, brief mention of homophobia. bIG diCK Jungkook, more belly bulging, and I forgot what else

Word Count: 6.1k

Summary: Against you better judgement and thank to your best friend Jimin. You somehow agreed to let a stranger on campus known as the Cherry Popper, too well..pop your cherry.

Alternatively: You're a virgin. Jungkook has a fetish/kink for fucking virgins.

A/N: I guess i’ll keep putting this note until i stop reposting my old stories. I use to be lizardsocial, and this fic was previously called Game. You may still be able to find it somewhere on tumblr. I edited this fic heavily and it’s honestly a new story, but there are still some elements from the fic it used to be still in there. Unedited so please let me know of any mistakes or typos. Like, comment, reblog, let me know what you think. Enjoy!

_________________________________________

Bass boosted pop music seeped through the dense walls of the energetic room. Strobing bright colored beams danced to the rhythm of the music in mesmerizing synchrony. The musty odor of marijuana, booze, and sex-saturated air shrouded the room in a turbid veil, covering the sea of drunken undulating bodies packed in the cramped living room.  Empty beer cans and other various booze bottles mixed with burnt-out blunts accompanied the young adults. You groaned with irritation and disgust. You didn't want to be here, but to your chagrin, you had a promise to keep.

It wasn't a secret that the college nightlife was unquestionably not your type of 'scene.' You quite frequently elected to willingly engage most of your time in your freshman dorm, wrapped in your weighted burrito blanket. A nightstand stockpiled with all your favorite snacks, lights dimmed low, and lavender incense burning, filling your room with the aroma of relaxation. The perfect setting to binge-watch your favorite show for the umpteenth time, the shifting distorted brightness of your computer screen, projecting the scenes against your face. 

It's kind of funny how you got yourself into this mess in the first place. The one time you decide to take the chance and branch away from the alternate antisocial hermit, your personality had adopted as its own had come back to bite you in the ass. You admit, lately, you've been neglecting your best friend. Your reasonings generally varying from the classic 'oh I was sleep' to deliberately silencing your phone, not wanting to hear the constant shrill ringing of the default ringtone. You loved Jimin, you truly did, but you could only take so much of his eccentric mashup of bubblegum and rainbow sparkles that was his personality. Eventually, guilt began eating away at you piece by piece until you ultimately caved in and invited your friend over for an impromptu movie night in your dorm room. 

Not even 30 minutes into the movie, one that you had been dying to see, might you add, Jimin commenced his drunk and high chattering. He had already started 'pre-gaming' before he came over; Six shots of straight Vodka and 2 blunts. Every day you prayed for this man's liver and brain function; with how much he drank and smoke, you would think he needed it to function. 

"Oh! Oh! Bitttch. Did I tell you about that football player, I fucckked last week!" Jimin started slurring on certain words. You noticed his eyes were glossy and glazed over. 

"No, you didn't, Chim." You sighed, completely giving up trying to watch the movie. You would have to watch it on your alone time. 

"Reeaally?" Jimin slurred, a goofy grin uplifting his lips.

"Yes, really. You haven't told me." Amusement lightly coated your voice. 

"Welll, his name is T-tae, Tae-tae something. Hold on, it's coming to me." Jimin said, rubbing the sides of his temples, trying to remember the guys' name. 

"Taehyung! That's it!" Jimin shrieked, snapping his fingers in victory.

You looked at him startled. You remember Taehyung from high school. You didn't recall him being at this college, though. Well, it wasn't like you paid attention to many things outside your bubble anyway.

"Wasn't he homophobic as fuck in high school?" You asked, genuinely interested.

"Yeah, he was. Buttt I guess he was trying to cover up, that he was actually on the DL." Jimin smiled, whispering the last part.

"DL? What's that mean?" You inquired

Jimin looked at you with a look of betrayal. "It means he's on the down-low, meaning he didn't want anyone to know he's gay. Girrl, I'm too crossfaded to be explaining this to you."

You chuckled, " My bad, Chim. So was it good?"

"Fuck, no! Dick was straight trash. The only thing that saved him a little was that his dick was huge." Jimin said, wiping away a pretend tear from the corner of his eye. 

You laughed boisterously at that. If Jimin wasn't so adamant about becoming a professional dancer. He could seriously take up a career in comedy.

"Speaking of dick. When are you gonna get some?" Jimin asked, turning his body to face you completely. As you looked at him, you noticed his eyes seemed a bit clearer, and his face wasn't as red as earlier. Not only did Jimin drink like a fish and smoke like a chimney. He was somehow able to sober just as fast.

"Oh my god, Jimin. Please don't sta-"

"Mmm, no missy," Jimin said, wagging his finger in your face.

"Don't you hear it?" He said, cupping his hand around his ear as if he was straining to hear something.

"Hear what?" You replied, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms against your chest.

"The cobwebs and tumbleweed living in your cunt."

"Jimin!" You shrieked, slapping the arm closest to you.

"Don't Jimin me! You know it's true, I swear you're gonna be a 40-year-old virgin, and by the time you finally make the decision to have sex, it'll be too late!" Jimin yelled, stumbling to stand up from the couch.

"First off, ouch. I won't be a 40-year-old virgin. That's very insulting. Second, I do plan to lose it soon. I just haven't found the time or the right guy." You said, looking down at your feet shyly. You did want to lose your virginity, but with being an introvert with a mix of social anxiety and just a dash of seasonal depression for added flavor. It was hard even to get out of bed sometimes. Much less going out and trying to find someone to do the do with.

"Oh! Well, if that's all, then I got you covered, babe. Time? Next week Friday at Jihyo's dorm. As for the right guy, I know a dude. He has like a kink for that kind of thing." Jimin answered nonchalantly, now scrolling through his phone, probably on his social media page.

You looked at Jimin, head tilted to the side, confused. "What kind of thing?"

"Oh, you know fucking virgins and shit. Popping their cherries." He said, popping his "P's."

You sputtered, exasperated. What the fuck. You didn't kink shame, that was for losers, but he can't seriously expect you to do something like that.

"What the actual fuck. Jimin, are you serious?"  

"Deadly." He said, looking you square in your eyes. His tone of voice haven dropped an octave lower.

"Jimin no. I-i can't."

"Jimin, yes! Err, I mean _____ yes, you can! Come on, it's a once in a lifetime experience. Plus, it's not like he's a total stranger. I've known him since he was 8 years old. I use to babysit the little shit head." Jimin said, waving his hand in the air, trying to swat away a rogue fly.

"Wow, Chim. You know, now that you put it like it makes me feel a lot better about the situation." You said tone dripped in sarcasm

"Really?" Jimin squealed, a delighted twinkling in his eye.

"Of course not! Don't be stupid!" Offended, you gawked at Jimin. You swear sometimes he could be so dimwitted.

"Come on, please? At least meet him, and if the vibe is not right, then you can leave no harm done." Jimin pleaded, his attention back on you. Was it crazy that you were actually thinking about agreeing to this? Jimin did have a point. It was sort of a once in a lifetime opportunity. He did know the guy, and if you didn't like the vibe, then you could just bounce, right? Right?

Sighing in defeat, your hands dragged down your face and turned towards a pouting Jimin. Grabbing at his deflated shoulders, you shook her lightly, and with urgency in your voice, you spoke, "Alright goddammit! I'll do it, but you have to stay by my side the whole time, no running off, you understand!" 

You watched Jimin's face quirk into a sly smirk. You swore you could see the cogs in his brain churning. Damn, you were going to regret this. You had the tendency to make deals when pressured. Most of the time, those agreements ended up backfiring on you, confining you in the proverbial rock and a hard place. 

"Yay! Operation: Pop _____ Cherry has commenced. Okay, so will meet at the auditorium on the art campus. From there we will walk to Jihyo's dorm, it's only five minutes. Promise me you'll actually show up and won't flake on me." A complacent expression rested arrogantly on Jimin's features, a single pinky finger extended towards you. 

"Don't give this situation a not-so-secret code name. And I can't believe I'm saying this but, I promise." You agreed, interlocking pinky fingers, yours thumbs coming up to press against one another.

"So I'll meet you at the location Friday, don't be late, and wear something sexy. No granny clothes." he chirped, making his way to your front door.

"Wait! You're leaving already?" you frowned, looking at the clock on your wall. He's only been here for an hour, and 30 mins of it were spent persuading you to hurry up and lose your virginity. You didn't even get to finish the movie together.

"Sorry babe, but I have a dick appointment." he shrugged, putting his arms through the sleeves of his jacket.

"Can you at least tell me the name of the guy who's supposed to fuck me?" you huffed, honestly you were done for tonight. As soon as Jimin left, you were heading straight for bed.

"Oh yeah, how could I forget." Jimin slaps the center of his forehead. "He's a real cutie. I would fuck him if he wasn't as straight as an arrow." Jimin looks off to a far wall, eyeing it with jealousy.

"Just tell me his name, please." You pleaded. Oh yeah, that's definitely a headache forming. You could feel it already. Jimin snaps out of his daydreaming and spins his body towards you.

"Jungkook."

Time skip to a week later, and precisely as you suspected, what a mistake that whole conversation was. Now here you were at this fucking dorm party with people you didn't know or care to get to know. Jimin had left you as soon as he saw his next piece of ass. Restlessly you hauled down the short black dress that insisted on riding up your ass, the soles of your feet protesting in the slim heeled shoes. Floundering your way into the packed building, you couldn't help but query where Jungkook was. Jimin was supposed to get around to send you a picture of the mystery man, but that never happened. Funny how now was the best time you decided to question why exactly Jimin was your best friend.

"Well damn, the pictures Jimin sent me doesn't do you justice at all. You're fucking hot." You recoiled from the closeness of the voice, the heated breath sending chills skittering down your spine, and the hairs on the back of your neck ramrod straight. Heat spurred to your face when you whisked around to meet an absolutely gorgeous guy. Like unfairly gorgeous guy. You stared wide-eyed, taking in his chiseled facial features, paired with wide doe eyes and bunny smile decorating his face. Somehow, someway he's mastered looked soft and sexy at the same damn time. And fuck was that a dangerous combination for your pussy. Your heart too, but more so your cunt.

"U-uh, thanks? Who are you exactly?" You watch as he recoils back from your with a look of apprehension on his face.

"A-are you not ____?" he stutters cutely. You think you can see the beginnings of a blush burning his cheeks. You nod your head once to confirm his question. He stared at you a minute longer before you see the recognition spark in his chocolate orbs.

"Jimin didn't send you my picture did he?" Shaking his head with his eyes close, you get the courage the scan his face a bit more. Yeah. He's definitely blushing.

"Sorry. I guess seeing you here, I thought Jimin would have...prepared you better." Shaking your head from side to side because your words refused to come out. You watched as he backed up a bit further from your personal space and thrust his right hand out to you. 

"The name's Jungkook, or J.K. Whatever suits your taste."

With clammy hands, you taking his outstretched hand marveled at how it almost covers your hand. Now that he's moved back from you, you now had to chance to see how tall he really was. Maybe about 6 to 7 inches taller. You look down at his feet and eye his combat boot, perhaps a little shorter but still taller. And big, yeah, definitely bigger. His oversized black jacket did little to hide the broadness of his shoulders and chest. You let your eyes travel down the length of his body. You bet he's hiding some killer abs under his shirt. And holy fuck, his thighs.

"You like what you see, baby girl?" Teasing, he's teasing but God, if his voice didn't make you pussy throbbing pathetically. Whimpering slightly, you let out a meek "Yes." God, you hope he didn't hear that.

Much to your dismay, he did, hear you. How he heard you with the music as loud as it was, was a mystery to you. But you watched his pupils dilate, and his nostrils flare slightly. Jungkook tucks his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes rake up and down your scantily clad body. His heated stare scrutinized across your body, intrigue exerting over him, as he analyzed the way the snug-fitting dress molded to the curves of your shape. He could tell you didn't do this often. His dick twitched in his jeans with enthusiasm. 

It's the increase in pressure of your hand that makes you realize you're still holding his hand. You go to retract your hand from his. However, yelp shrilly as he tugs you closer to his body. Both hands now resting on his chest, and his wrapped around your waist. Fuck, you could feel the warmth and coarseness of his hands through your thin dress. A spontaneous tremor racked your body. The heat-transmitting from his frame mixed with the floral yet musky undertone of his cologne made you somewhat featherbrained.

"Fuck, you're so soft." You squeak as he squeezes your waistline, pulling you even closer against his body. You were now putty in his hands.

"Jimin told you my....preferences, right?" his voice caressed your ear. Just a slight movement or subtle twitch, and his lips would be on your skin.

"Y-yeah, he did." It should be an embarrassment how frail and breathless you sounded, but that didn't matter.

Jungkook hid his smile behind your ear. This was just too easy. Just how he liked it. He almost felt bad- almost. He was gonna ruin you utterly and completely, mold the shape of cock in the walls of your pussy. His name spilling from your lips, voice going hoarse by how loud he would make you scream. Fuck he couldn't wait. He's had virgin's before, a lot of them. That's his whole M.O. The cherry popper, virgin fucker, whatever. Jungkook's heard all the names in the book. But there's just something about you, you just had an air of genuine innocence, and he couldn't wait to defile it. 

Jungkook pulls his head back, enough to where his eyes can trail over the bared skin of your neck, and the sprinkling of perspiration sparkling off the bright strobing lights, no doubt from nervousness. His tongue traced over his thin upper lip, watching the droplets of sweat spiral down the curve of your neck. He wanted to taste you. 

"Alright, then." He jerks his body away from you. You're no longer touching his chest, but his hands are still on your waist. 

"Let's enjoy the party before the fun really begins. Every done body shots before?" Jungkook spoke casually, undeterred by the way you recoiled back or the look of stupor on your face.

"W-what? B-body shots, why?" you squeaked, failing to keep from stuttering over your words. Is this how it's supposed to go? Is this normal? You're bewildered, and just a bit perturbed. Were you just imagining that sexual tension that was going on just moments ago? For sure, you thought Jungkook was gonna throw you over his shoulders and haul you off to the nearest unoccupied bedroom or bathroom. At that instant, you didn't care. 

Jungkook regarded the war of emotions wage across your features, merriment and strobing lights twinkling in his eyes. Fuck, you were cute, so desperate staring up at him with a pout on your face a puppy dog eyes. He could honestly just take you back to the closest room and fuck the shit out of you. But he wanted to play with his prey, a bit more. The wait made it that much more satisfying.

"Don't pout too much, baby girl or I may not be able to contain myself. Follow me. The table is this way."

Jungkook didn't indulge in answering any of your questions you rambled off at him, delighted to see you trailing on his heels like a lost pup. Jungkook directed you further into the dorm, and like a dog on a leash, you followed. In the center of a sparse room sat a scraped up black table. You observed the area. It was devoid of many people. The several that were present made no recognition of your proximity in their intoxicated state.

"So who's first?" Jungkook asked, setting the bottle of tequila, rim salt, and limes down on the table.

"U-uh, I don't know. I guess it doesn't matter." You shrugged hesitantly. You were way out of your element here.

"Perfect then, you first." Jungkook should be ashamed by how excited he was at getting to sample your skin. It looked smooth, felt soft when he had you in his arms, and would no doubt probably taste as sweet as it seemed. You nodded in docility, wandering over to crawl on top of the table, being attentive to your dress. You lay flattened against the table, shiverings racking your body as he began pouring a trail of salt between your cleavage. 

He poured himself a shot in the depression of your throat and tore the lime in half with his bare hands. Smirking at how you flinched when he thumped the liquor bottle down beside your head. Jungkook pushed the other half of the unevenly split lime towards your lips, a silent gesture to take the lime in your mouth. Jungkook watched as your lips curled gently around the hull of the green citrus. A flare of lust stirred in his loins at the action. He couldn't wait to see your lips stretched around the head of his cock. He observed your eyes clamped closed as he began dropping his head forward to your chest. It was adorable and innocent. He noted the way your lips slackened around the citrus in your mouth, your chest heaving in speed, the closer his tongue trailed to your neck.

You tasted splendid, just as sweet as he thought. The salt on your skin did nothing to deter your natural flavor. If anything, it enhanced your sweetness, rendering your skin damn near mouth-watering. Jungkook's ears perked at the breathless moans slipping past the fruit perched against your lips, drawn out by the repeated pass of the wet, pink appendage lapping at the salt line between the valley of your breast. Committing your muffled moans to memory, he lapped persistently at the collection of salt and tequila in the hollow at the base of your neck.

You face flammed in embarrassment as panting moans effortlessly tumbled from your mouth. Who knew your chest and neck was such an erogenous spot. Despite your shame, you couldn't stop wriggling, shifting your thighs together for some form of friction to sate the rising arousal dampening your panties. You yelped at the sensation of blunt teeth nibbling at your skin before soft lips came to suck at the shallow indentations. Fluffy hair with an undercut came into your line of vision as Jungkook lifted his head up to your lips. Your heart stammered tortuously against your ribs, flirtatious eyes stared lidded with searing lust, his head advanced closer to your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed, lips puckering against the bitter hull of the lime.

Jungkook closed the distance, slanting his mouth over the lime, blocking his contact with yours. He sucked against the sour fruit, acidity puckering his lips, residual tartness flowing to your cracked lips. Jungkook withdrew from your mouth, taking the drained lime hull with it. Your saccharine moans were heaven to his ears. It had awoken something inside him, fueled his fire in knowing that possibly no one had ever heard such a sweet sound. He wanted more, craved more. 

"Have you ever been kissed before, sweetheart?" Your eyes followed the movement of his tongue, poking out to moistening his lips. 

"Yeah, once in like 3rd grade." Who hasn't snuck behind a tree or hid underneath the dark coverings of playground equipment to lock lips with a childhood crush?

He grinned salaciously, body moving to rest between your spread legs. Oh, now he was really excited. Your lips were practically untouched. Just another part of your body to claim first. You jumped when palms pressed flat against the revealed skin of your thigh. Gently, Jungkook rubbed lazy circles on your skin, never lowering or furthering than the hem of your dress. He felt you wiggle beneath his hands, observed your eyes, glimpsing―darting about, should you concentrate on his face, or his hand, uncertainty was etched on your face.

"Amazing." He groaned, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, before grinning again. His face inched closer to yours, his lips but a breath apart, warmth flickered against your lips as he talked, level and smooth. " Well, how about I become your second?

And then his lips were on you, the soft muscle mangled itself to your lips, tentative and sluggish to give you a chance to register his mouth slanted upon yours. Jungkook chuckled against your lips at your unresponsiveness. He guesses you were a little shell shocked. It only takes a few more stagnant seconds before you're shyly reciprocating his kiss. Delicate, shaky movements highlighted your inexperience. Increasingly, Jungkook increased the pressure behind lips, his hands spreading to enclose around your waist, dragging you closer against him. One of Jungkook's hands removed from your waist to bury itself in your hair, gently his fingernails scratched against your scalp, an airy moan was his reward. 

Hands completely abandoning your midsection, one gripped the meat of your thigh, pulling you to the edge of the table, flush against the tent of his denim jean encased manhood, the other embedded in your strands pulled sharply on your roots, a loud gasp tearing from you. Jungkook took that opportunity to advance his tongue into your gaped mouth. His tongue wrapped itself around yours, briefly wrestling for dominance before easily pinning your tongue in submission. His hips ground against yours, the heat of your covered core teased him through his jeans. 

He thoroughly explored your mouth, swallowing the now copious cries leaving your mouth. Reluctantly, Jungkook tore himself from your kiss-swollen lips. The ravished looked suited you perfectly. You looked beautiful, thighs brazenly spread, eyes glazed over in lust, your sticky chest heaving from the length of the shared kiss. Even in the dim lights, he could make out the taunt pebbling of your nipples. 

Your mouth gaped wide, flapping about like a fish out of water, trying despairingly to draw air into your lungs. Your first kiss definitely didn't compare to this much. Your wide eyes flicked between Jungkook and the floor, your bottom lip tucked firmly between your teeth, feeling shy as he just stares at you. Releasing your teeth from your lips, you timidly touched your mouth, admiring how plump they've gotten from the intense liplock.

Wordlessly Jungkook hitched you over his shoulder, winded with a grunt as his defined shoulder blades dug into your stomach and what sounded like a growled vibrate up into you. You squirmed lightly in his hold, scared he was going to drop you, and secondly, your panty-clad ass on display for the party-goers, not that anyone was looking. 

You watched the continuous panels of hardwood floor move beneath you as Jungkook carried you to an unknown destination. You couldn't believe you were really doing this. Were you actually going to have sex with a complete stranger? Someone who was known for explicitly fucking virgins. Realistically, you should be ashamed, yet, you conceded full control to him without a second thought. What did that say about you? About your character? Would you now be labeled as 'easy' or a 'hoe' after all this was done? What was going to happen between you and Jungkook? 

The flick of a switch stirred from your thoughts. You shield your eyes with your hand at the bright lights pouring into the room, or rather a bathroom. Jungkook loved the confusion marring your features. He wouldn't fuck you in his bedroom just yet. That was a privilege you would have to earn, no matter how intrigued he had become with you. There's always humiliation to be had in the corruption of innocence, and fucking you in the bathroom was a good start. He planned on making you watch him as he destroyed your body, popping your cherry, stretching your tight virginal hole to accommodate his length, and claimed it as his own. Jungkook shuddered at the thought, his possessive nature taking a turn for the worst. 

Impatiently Jungkook sat you on top of the bathroom sink counter, his lips smashed against yours, the previous tenderness was gone, vanished into a puff of smoke. Teeth banged, and tongues flailed recklessly against each other in the heat of passion, with you struggling to keep up with the demands of his dominating kiss. Thick fingers trailed beneath the hem of your dress, tickling the expanse of your thighs. Jungkook wasted no time in shifting your slick soaked panties to the side, a warm digit gliding effortlessly through your damn folds.

"Fuck, you're already so wet. You're enjoying this a little too much, baby girl." Jungkook growled, panting against your lips. His finger breached your sex, you tensed deftly around the foreigner intrusion, stretching your weeping walls. 

"Ah, Jungkook." You cried listlessly, rocking your hips against his stilled finger. He felt so good inside you, and it was just his finger. Maybe this experience wouldn't be as bad as you heard. Now you couldn't wait to see what his cock felt like embedded deep within your pussy. Jungkook pumped slowly, eventually introducing a second finger to help loosen you up more. You were gonna be a tight fit, very tight, but that just made it even better. You hissed at the slight burn as he began scissoring his fingers apart with each withdrawal. Your hands wrapped around his neck as you buried your head against his broad chest, your mellifluous moans suppressed by the fabric of his shirt. 

"G-go faster, please." You begged, your body adjusting and quickly becoming frustrated by the snail's pace his fingers were pumping. You bucked your hips against his hands, hoping he would ease the growing discomfort boiling in your stomach. 

"Have you ever had an orgasm before, babe?" You nodded eagerly at his question, whining as you bucked against his hand again.

"Oh, really? Who gave it to you." Slow, he was going too slow you wanted, no you needed more friction, more stimulation from him.

"M-me. I-i did." Jungkook loved how you stuttered, it stroked his ego and filled him with arrogance to know it was him, and only that was capable of making you stumble over your words.

"Mmm, and how did you do it? Did you rub this little clit of yours raw?" You cried louder when his thumb flicked at your clit, the stimulation further drawing the appendage from its hood.

"Or did you fuck this tight hole, with these tiny fingers of yours?" At those words, a loud, choked moan, even muffled by your face in his chest, echoed throughout the white bathroom. Jungkook had gone deeper inside, almost to the third knuckle. Another moan left your lips as he twisted his fingers inside you, his palm now facing upwards.

"Though you and I bought know they couldn't possibly reach deep enough to touch the spot you really want." It's euphoric, no better yet orgasmic, the sheer shock of electric pleasure that zaps through your body when he finds the spongy bundle of nerves. Your body jerked heavily, legs go to snap close, only to be stopped by his broad body between your thighs.

He chuckles softly, stroking your thigh with his other hand. Jungkook shifts his head down, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He exhales quietly, warm air tinged with tequila and lime caresses the light hairs on you around your ear. " I found it, huh?"

You whimper, rubbing your head up and down against his chest.

"You want me to speed up the pace, sweetheart?" Jungkook's voice is delicate now, so gentle. But you're confused, overwhelmed, and scared. It's never felt like this when you did it yourself. Your not sure if you could handle the feeling, so you don't provide an answer to Jungkook's question.

"Don't ignore me ____, that's not nice manners. I'll ask again." You clench around his fingers as Jungkook inches just a bit deeper. 

"Do you. Want me. To go faster?" With each pause, he arches his fingers in a 'come here' motion, pressing deeply against your bundle of nerves, the sensation of having to pee accompanied with each thrust.

 "Y-yes, faster, more. Pl-lease." Fuck, you sounded so pretty begging for him if he wasn't addicted before. You had him sprung now. Jungkook buried his face in the crook of your neck, the sharp smell of tequila and salt still lingering on your skin. He sucked at the junction where your shoulder and neck met. You bucked harder against his fingers, your juices now dripping to coat his palm is sticky cream.

"If you wanted more. Why didn't you just ask?" Jungkook said deviously. Confused, you felt withdraw his sticky digits, walls gripping to stop their departure. Without warning, Jungkook flipped you over onto the counter, your knees buckled at the sudden change in position. Your faced burning at your displayed state, droplets of your essence dribbled from your pussy, slicking up your inner thighs. You yelped as Jungkook grasped at the length of your hair, pulling back pointedly, your neck craned back to observe him addressing you in the mirror.

"You've been wondrous for me ____. Such a sweet girl." He expressed, his empty hand disappearing behind your perked ass to fiddle with the groin of his pants. 

"Truly, you have. Your response and reactions to my touch have really gotten me riled up. It's been a while since I've tittered on the edge of losing control." You wheezed, starting to panic as you felt the thick head of his cock slap teasingly against your slicked throbbing hole. Oh, God, he's huge. Jungkook's cock might just tear you apart. You shifted your hips forward, pressing against the cold marble of the bathroom counters door.

"I-i don't think, I can t-take it Jungkook, you're too b-big. It's my first-time, r-remember?” Your stuttering worse now, but you're scared.

Jungkook pulls your hips back with the hand the was grasping his length, the side of your hip now coated in his pre-cum. His hand lays flat in the crease of your back, forcing you into a perfect arch. 

"You can take it, all of it. And don't worry, of course, I remembered your fragility. I'll go slow, I promise." You plead silently with your eye contact through the mirror. 

"You ready?" You nod once an advert your eyes down to the sink.

Your mouth shakily falls agape as he slowly began pushing the head of his cock into you. It burns, but not as bad as you had anticipated. You take the chance to look back up into the mirror, adamant about giving Jungkook a thankful smile for his gentleness. That vision that greets looks like it jumped right off the page of your favorite erotic story. 

Jungkook's got his head thrown back, the edge of his t-shirt clenched tightly between his teeth, your eyes trail the drip of sweat that follows the curve of his jawline. You have a clear view of his abs all the way down to the v-cut of his hip, to the happy trail that leads to a neatly trimmed bush of pubic hair. You clench tightly around him, efficiently aroused by the view. You feel his cock throbbed heavily inside you, even getting bigger if possible.

"You like that, sweet girl? You like seeing me struggling to contain myself because you're so tightly around me. This little pussy trying to milk me for all I can give you." You love it. You feel powerful in a way. Do you really feel that good around him?

"Yes." Jungkook draws out the 'S.' 

"You feel amazing, so warm and wet. I wished you could see how coated in white you've got me, and I'm not even all the way in yet."

You scream soundless as he bucks into you, shoving in half of his length. It doesn't hurt anymore. You just feel stuffed full. Lifting a trembling hand, you take the chance a feel the lower part. You noticed swelling that wasn't there before, intrigued; you push down against it, moaning in shock you realize it's Jungkook's cock. 

"Yeah, baby girl, that's all me, well, most of me. You ready to take the rest?"

"Yes! Please!" That's the clearest you've been all night. You don't get an answer as Jungkook immediately picks up his pacing, thrusting into you faster. He wastes no time pumping deeply into your tight pussy, his tip smashing against the entrance to your cervix as you pant and grit your teeth in slight discomfort, overshadowed by pleasure. The burning sensation is back as he fucks in deeper with each brutal and swift stroke. But you don't care cause it still feels amazing. You can hear yourself, sloppy and soaking wet, echoing throughout the bathroom. You're drooling down his pistoning cock. You can feel it dripping down your inner thighs. Your head jerks violently against your shoulders, to weak support your head from his menacing thrust. 

Tightened vocal cords released strained shrieks of praise; from your mouth, drool dripping from your lips, into the sticky cleavage of your breast, and sweat coated your skin. The coil in your stomach was quickly tightening, never had you felt anything so deep inside you. If you ever had sex with anyone else, they would never compare to Jungkook.  You were fucked both figuratively and literally.

Jungkook pulled you further from off the sink, the new position allowing him even deeper. You clawed at the marble tops underneath your fingers, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. That sensation of having to pee is back again.

"J-K, I-m. I have to-," You don't get to finish as the band in your stomach snapped. Silently you announced your release; if it wasn't for the new wave of cum coating his cock, or the fluttering tightness of your walls, Jungkook might have missed your orgasm. He wasn't far behind you. The constant clenching of your ridged walls around his cock, had him reaching his limit sooner than he would like. Jungkook had half a mind to pull out but decided to gamble his odds. You're the first person he's fucked raw in a while, and with three deep thrusts later, he was shooting his hot seed right against your cervix. 

Breathing heavily, Jungkook lets you fall against the sink, observing as you crumpled against the sink countertop. Pride swelled his chest as he watched his seed bubble out of your well-used hole. He's never contemplated going farther with the virgins he fucked. He wouldn't make any hasty decisions now though there were still a lot of things he wanted to do with you. He would sleep on it and revisit the idea in the morning.

"So would you say, Operation: Pop Your Cherry was a success?"

You giggled, winded, still having difficulty catching your breath. You straighten up against the bathroom counter, the majority of your weight still resting on the object as you had yet to regain the feeling in your legs.

"Jimin and his stupid code names. I swear when I get a hold ass, he's dead." You warned already preparing your revenge on your best friend. You stare at Jungkook in the eyes through the mirror, smile a bit goofy, you say.

"Operation: Pop My Cherry. Mission complete."